


Angel's Wings

by WizardsGirl



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And faith with her twiddly fingers???, And she will End You if you fuck with them, Angel has Seven Younger Sisters, Animal Death, Attempted Rape, Being tolerant despite differing viewpoints, Canon Typical Violence, Cult, Dark Religious Themes, Does it count as Psychic if Gods just like "Yo go that way"?, Drug Use, God Whispers, How Do I Tag, How to Be A Good Person by Junior Deputy Angel Brook, How to properly treat your enemies, Human Nature, Infanticide, Joseph isn't the only one who hears God's Voice, Lost of Emphasis and Capital Letters, Masochism, Mental Torture, Mistakes Are Made, Morals and ethics, Multi, No Generic Peggies, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Not everything is black and white, Overprotective Siblings, Pacifist Route, Pairing suggestions welcome, Past Child Abuse, Past Spousal Abuse, Peggies are People Too, Personification, Pet Names, Physical Torture, Prophetic Dreams, Prophetic Visions, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Religious Themes, Sadism, Serious whats with the face touching???, The seven deadly sins, Thinking Outside the Box, Titles, Tolerance, Torture, Understanding, Violence, Yes I used Religious Themes as Names, compassion - Freeform, dark themes, dead bodies, emotional torture, fight me, past drug abuse, ruthlessness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-05-24 10:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14952911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardsGirl/pseuds/WizardsGirl
Summary: Angel Brook was born in Darkness of a Hateful Man and a Loving Woman, with seven younger sisters she has practically raised herself. Her Heart and Soul belong to Them and God and she will visit Wrath and Hellfire upon those who would harm any sheilded beneath the Wings of her Love.





	1. 0

**Angel's Wings**

**.0.**

Angel Brook's earliest memory is the birth of her first sister when she's three. The cellar she and her Mother lives in is lit only by the yellow bulb hanging bare from the ceiling. Father hasn't been down in two days, so Mother's face isn't as bruised, but she looks like shes glowing as she settles the surprisingly heavy weight of the newborn baby onto Angel's skinny legs.

"This is Mercy, my Angel," Mother whispers to her, gently taking her tiny hand within her own, broken-fingered grip, to press Angels fingertips tenderly to the newborns blood-flushed cheek. Baby Mercy whimpers. "She's your baby sister now. You have to protect her, understand? Big sisters always protect their little brothers and sisters, just like Mothers protect their Babies, alright?" Slowly, Angel had nodded, tracing those soft, red cheeks carefully, frowning in concentration and Mother pulls her towards her chest, to lean against her body supportively.

"Father's gonna be mad she's not a boy," she whispered; the bony arms around her tighten, tremble hard, only once, before gentling again. Mother pressed a kiss to her head.

"You let Mother worry about Father," Mother orders softly; Angel can only nod and obey, just as she always does. Father is scary and violent and filled with hate, but Mother is strong, stronger than Father, because even when she bleeds and breaks and cries, she is never angry or hurtful back. Mother whispers stories in Angels ears, about Forgiveness and Patience and Hope and Faith.

"The Lord Giveth, and the Lord Taketh Away," Mother always whispered to her, "but never more than we can take, Angel. Never more than we can Endure. All suffering ends, sweet baby, and one day, far from now, we will walk through the pearly gates into Heaven and know only Love and Light and Joy. I swear this to you, my Angel, my little Light."

And Angel  _Believes_.

**^.^.^.^**

Her next clear memory is when she's six. It's the first time Father beats her. She's lying on the ground as his belt hits her again and again and again, and she is sobbing, crying out and screaming from the pain, but she  _endures_. In the corner, Mother is unconscious, gray and wan and the whole left side of her face one swollen, purple bruise. She'd only just finished cleaning up newborn baby Joy, who is scared silent pressed between their Mothers side as little Mercy curls over her, blue eyes wide with fright and tears leaving clean marks down her face. Father was furious, yelling and screaming about how  _weak_  Mother was, how  _stupid_  and  _weak_ , and how  _dare_  she birth him a equally weak and pathetic  _girl_. He only stops lashing Angel when his face is flushed dark red and wet with sweat, muscles trembling and blue eyes almost black with hate.

"I will get my Son," he hisses into the cellar, as Angel struggles with the fogginess of her head, the gray stone floor under her stained red. "I  _will_ get my Son, or so help me  _God_  I will kill you all and start anew." He turns and leaves, and the cellar is silent but for Angels rasping breaths and baby Joy's muffled whimpers. There is a shuffling sound, and then there is Mercy, clumsy toddler fingers patting at Angel in fear, her other hand clutching the blanket that baby Joy is wrapped in, dragging the newborn behind her like some children clutch their stuffed toys.

"Sissy?" Mercy whimpers; Angel lets out a shaky breath, and tries her best to smile at her little sisters, because they are frightened and she has to keep them safe,  _has too_.

"It'll be okay, Mercy," she manages to slur out as her little sister gives up her patting to curl up next to her, dragging baby Joy over almost too roughly, to lodge the tiny newborn between Angels unmoving body and Mercy's own curled form. Weakly, a strange, foggy feeling in her head from pain and loss of blood, Angel manages to tilt her forehead just enough to press against Mercy's dark hair. Breathing raggedly, she licks her lips, and begins to sing, softly, just like Mother did.

" _You are my Sunshine,_

_My only Sunshine..."_

**^.^.^.^**

She's twelve and has five more little sisters to protect and guide and Love. Baby Hope was first, and then baby Charity, followed by almost too-big Honesty, then Patience and finally little Faith, who almost didn't live at all, too small and too early and Father's desperate Hate too Strong. Mother is heavy with another baby, but Father doesn't care, and Angel can only take so much before she's unconscious and she  _needs_  to be awake, to keep her sisters safe, Mother  _Says So_  so she does her best. Mercy has grown to  _hate_  Father, has let her fury and fear swallow her whole and drown out the sweetness that she used to glow with. It makes Angel want to cry whenever Father leaves and her baby sister, her  _first_  sister, comes up from her fear with teeth bared and Wrath making her blue eyes turn the same dark color as Fathers. She Prays to the God Mother promises exists, that her baby sister won't fall through her fingers, wont be swallowed up by the same anger as Father, will return to Light and Love and Faith, and, like always, He is Silent, but still, she Believes.

She is only twelve and she is the only one awake the next time Father comes down into the Cellar. She is still and quiet, holding her breath as her fingers tighten around baby Faith, little Honesty is curled against her stomach. Patience has sprawled herself on top of Charity like a living blanket, and Joy is cuddled with Hope beside Mercy against the wall. Father walks past them, straight over to Mother who is sleeping sitting up so that the Baby doesn't lay against the ground. Father wakes her with a sharp kick to the leg, and Angel flinches, curling instinctively around her baby sisters as she watches Father through the dim, yellow light, as he leans over and hisses at Mother.

"If you do not have a Boy, if you do not give me my rightful  _Son_ ," he hisses, venomously, like the evil Serpent Mother spoke of, the one that was really the Devil in the Garden of Eden. "I will cull the lot of you  _ungrateful_ _ **rats**_ , and start anew with a New Mother," he tells her, before the venom slides like true-poison from his lips as he leans closer to Mother, one of those familiar, large hands resting against her large belly with a tenderness that Angel knows will quickly fade. "But give me my Son, and you will prove yourself to me," he whispers, and now he is reverent, crooning sickly sweet, blue eyes gleaming. "Give me My Son, and you will live, help him grow to be Strong and Righteous. I will cull the rats in our home, and we shall raise him up, to stand tall and proud and he will be  _wonderful_ ," he breathes, and he sounds just like Mother when she speaks of Heaven, speaks of Salvation and Light and Love, and it makes something in Angel shudder, knowing that he thinks of his Heaven as only a vision of Pride and Greed and all the Sins Mother had warned them about in her whispers.

"Give me My Son, and I will give you  _Life_ ," Father murmured one last time, pressing a kiss to Mothers head and, suddenly, Angel realized how  _sick_  her Mother was, how frail with continued pregnancies and beatings and withheld food she was, and fear clutched her heart even as Father left. Mother waited a long moment, staring blankly down at her stomach, before she covered her face with her hands. She didn't make a noise, she barely even shook, but Angel knew what Weeping looked like. Knew Grief and Hopelessness and Defeat.

Carefully, cautiously, Angel settled baby Faith and little Honesty against her other Sisters, and, with silent, limping steps, slipped across the room to Mother. She sat slowly, painfully down, and, for the first time, Mother did not lift her head and smile, as wan as it would have been. She did not pull Angel close and whisper to her of how Heaven was missing her, teasing her about getting lost on her way back to God. Her Mother did not acknowledge her, and Angel, for a moment, felt at a loss.

But...

But then there was, was a  _feeling_. A warmth that unfurled in her chest, filling her up, and Angel curled a hand over the spot where it was strongest, staring at the ground with wide eyes. And, in the silence that seemed to drown her very thoughts, she heard the First Whisper.

And she would never be the same.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names/Ages at the end of this chapter:
> 
> Angel – 12
> 
> Mercy – 9
> 
> Joy – 6
> 
> Hope – 5
> 
> Charity – 4
> 
> Honesty – 3
> 
> Patience – 2
> 
> Faith – 1
> 
> Unborn Baby – 8½ Months In Womb


	2. 1

**Angel's Wings**

**.1.**

Angel Brook was kneeling on her blue yoga mat, praying in the early morning sunlight on the apartment balcony, when her phone began to ring behind her. Blinking gray eyes open, she glanced back in time to see Hope flipping it open with a cheerful hello, blue eyes mischievous behind her red-rimmed reading glasses, abandoning her homework.

"Brook Bible School, have you heard the word of our Lord today?" She chirped; Charity, sprawled on the couch, cackled as Angel rolled her eyes and rose to her feet. "Why  _hello_  Sheriff, I almost didn't recognize your voice on this old thing, you sound so  _young_!" Hope continued as Angel stretched, knees popping. "Why, yes, as it would happen, my lovely,  _single_  eldest sister is here, and, would you look at that, she likes older me—!" Angel neatly snatched her phone from her sibling, who joined Charity in her playful cackling.

"Off with you, Hellion," she ordered, swatting her sister absently on the butt as she passed, making her squawk before the laughter renewed. An annoyed grumbled expelled from the bundle of blankets across the room, where Mercy was sleeping on her bed after only getting back a few hours before. Joy, Honesty, and Faith were also sleeping, this time in their shared bedroom, and Patience was  _still_  in the shower, from the sound of running water.

"Hush, you two, our sisters are sleeping," Angel scolded, before pressing the phone to her ear. "Good Morning, Sheriff, how may I help you?"

" _Morning, Rook,"_  the familiar, warm voice of Sheriff Whitehorse greeted, and Angel smiled a little at the nickname. Deputy Staci Pratt had started it, to be honest, the first week she started at the Station. 'Your surname is Brook and you're the Rookie, might as well combine them, so, Rook!' he'd told her teasingly, shit-eating grin in place the first time she'd tried correcting him. The name had stuck, not that Angel really minded, to be honest.

" _I'm gonna need to call you in early today,"_  Sheriff Whitehorse continued, an edge entering his voice as someone too-muffled to understand said something in the background.  _"We've got a big job coming up and I need all hands on deck."_ Instantly, Angel straightened, a frown curling across her face.

"Understood," she told him firmly. "I'll be at the Station in just a little while."

" _See you soon, Rook."_  The Sheriff hung up, and Angel closed her flip-phone with a furrowed brow.

"Something serious?" Charity asked, sitting up and staring at her nervously, blue-gray eyes narrowed as Hope looked back over too, concern furrowing her sisters foreheads. Instantly, Angel offered them a soft smile, reaching forward to stroke her hand through Hope's curly black hair.

"Steady, girls," Angel told them firmly, gently. "Yes, it sounds serious. I won't ask you not to worry, just to Trust in God. He Guides all of our Steps," she reminded gently; Hope ducked her head and Charity nodded, worry sliding away to be replaced with relief.

"Yes, sister," they both said, and Angel smiled.

"I have to go in early," she informed them calmly, "and the Sheriff said that this is going to be big. I'll let you know if you need to set up the usual preparations for me, but, for now? Don't worry, just do your homework and make sure our sleepy-head Sisters eat and get to school on time," she told them affectionately, leaning down to kiss Hope's forehead gently. "And, if you just can't  _help_  but worry," she murmured teasingly to her bespectacled sister, who was already flushing faintly, embarrassed. "Than feel free to Pray for me. It never hurts to ask for His Guidance in times of uncertainty," she reminds gently; Hope nodded shyly, offering a meek smile as Angel moves past her towards the only other bedroom.

Stepping over the mattress on the ground--Hope's by the look of the neatly folded comforter, compared to Charity's messy nest of pillows and a crumpled sheet off in the corner--Angel stepped over to the small make-up dresser against the far wall, her clean uniform hanging and ready. Stripping out of her comfortable yoga pants and t-shirt, things she both slept and Prayed in, Angel sighed as she stood for a moment in only her bra and underwear, eyeing herself in the small mirror for a moment. The scars of her Childhood were just as stark as they'd been when she'd first been examined by the hospital doctors at twelve.

Countless scars, short and long, overlapping and left apart from the rest, places where her Father's belt had bitten again and again, where the stone floor of the Cellar had scrapped skin from flesh. These scars didn't bring forth feelings of fear or despair or self-loathing, however. Instead, she barely noticed them now, nothing beyond being able to look upon them and know that six of her sisters don't bare more than perhaps one or two, and that Mercy, her eldest of them, bore not even half as many. No, these scars were not Marks of Shame or Pain or Hate. These were her Gifts. Each Scar a Mark that she had prevailed, that she had defended her Sisters as she was meant to, that she bore upon her body such suffering so that others may not suffer. Every time she saw them, the Warmth that filled her flared a little brighter, made her a little more in Love with her Lord and with her Sisters and with Life itself.

And they made her remember the Strength of her Mother.

"The Lord Giveth," she murmured the familiar Mantra, reaching up to trace a particularly deep scar that curled over her left shoulder. "And the Lord Taketh Away. But never more than We can Endure." Bowing her head, Angel closed her eyes and, for just a moment, sent her Love and Joy outwards, Knowing that it would reach her Mother in Heaven. After a moment, Angel straightened, and got dressed. The tan of her uniform made her pale skin look almost pink, made her black hair—cut short for easy maintenance—look darker, her gray eyes paler, slightly eerie (or so she'd been told by Deputy Joey Hudson, the older woman telling her she had cat-eyes after she'd been startled by them one night on patrol, a streetlamp and a shadow making them look like gleaming silver). The long sleeves were annoying in summer, but, with the first promise of frost and fall chilling the air, she could bear it. Pulling on her black leather gloves, Angel sighed as she sat on the edge of the bed to tug on her boots.

A sudden tap on her door frame had her pausing, however, blinking as she looked up and found a bleary-eyed, scowling Mercy standing there, wearing nothing but a sports bra and a pair of boxers that Angel vaguely remembers once belonged to her sisters... Twelfth Boyfriend? Tattoos and scars curled around her sisters lean, muscled body. The Wrath from their Childhood had clung to Mercy, festered within her until she was drowning in it, no matter how much Angel prayed at first.

Now, they all accepted Mercy's Wrath, and simply worked to put emphasis Control and Purpose. When they were all separated as kids, shoved into the system and pulled apart, Mercy had been the "Problem child". She'd pressed her boundaries, picked fights, fell into her Sin with a vicious glee that had almost seen her in a worse place then the Juvenile Detention Center she'd ended up. Angel thanks God every day for Whispering to her during those Dark Times, for leading her to her lost sister through the Social Worker she'd been assigned. Finding Mercy had been the first step she'd had at reclaiming her Family.

She'd been eighteen, newly graduated, working two jobs and already half-way through her online Law classes, desperate to prove that she was capable of caring for even  _one_  of her sisters. Her Social Worker, a man named Geoff Larke, had been a rock in that final, senior year. He'd been a retired Army Sergeant, and had taken her determination, her Faith and Persistence and her "Elephant-Sized Balls of Steel" in stride. (He had given her that  _particular_ description after she'd told her previous SW that if he couldn't keep his hands to himself and his dick to his Wife, she'd be more than happy to help him atone for his Adultery by cutting said limbs off. She'd been in a pink sundress, having just got back from visiting church, with a smile on her face and a cross cradled in her hand. Later, once Mr. Larke had settled in, he'd told her he'd never seen a symbol of God used so subtly yet so threateningly in his life, and had slipped her a coupon to her favorite Chinese Food place.)

Mr. Larke had not only written her a glowing recommendation letter, he had pulled out every favor, called on every debt, and most likely threatened so many people, that not  _only_  did Angel receive the locations and information on  _all_  of her missing Siblings, but she had quickly gained Custody of all but Mercy.

It had taken hard work and the Whispering of God in her ear to help her through those early weeks. In the end, Mercy had been the hardest sister to reclaim, the one who had strayed furthest from Angel, despite being physically closer than any of the others. Once she'd been released from the Center, Angel had swept her Sister back into her hold, beneath the Wings of her Love and Persistence and Faith and, after weeks of the Whispers leading her directly to Mercy when she ran away again and again, weeks of pulling her from street fights, from under strange men and women, from out of smoke-filled rooms when she was so high she couldn't even walk...

After weeks of this, Mercy had caved and fallen back into their Family's fold, weeping from a mix of being overwhelmed and suffering from drug withdraw. Once she'd fully recovered, Angel had worked with her, they  _all_  had. Mercy had gone clean, dropped everything that she'd buried her Sins within, had gotten her GED, signed up for Martial Arts classes, and did work online between doing competitions. Looking at her, Angel felt the Warmth of her Love for her First Sister nearly overwhelm her.

"Sup, Sis?" Mercy asked groggily; Angel smiled standing up and moving towards her sister.

"Something big is going to go down," she informed Mercy, pulling the slightly-taller girl in for a hug, chuckling as Mercy went purposefully boneless, Trusting Angel to hold her dead weight. "All hands on deck at the Station."

"Sounds serious," Mercy hummed; Angel hummed in agreement. "Any word from Up Top?" She asked, as nonchalant about God's Whispers as always, and Angel chuckled.

"Only a sense of Something Important, but no Words," she said, pulling back and knocking their temples together affectionately. "You know the Lord, He Helps those who Help Themselves," she stated; Mercy shrugged, dragging her blunt fingers through her shaved-short hair, scratching at the base of her skull and rolling her dark blue eyes in agreement.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she complained easily. "If He Lead you by the Hand you'd never Learn the Path yourself, I  _know_ , Sis," she groused, a half-smile pulling at the slowly-healing split lip from her last MMA Tournament. "I don't need to Hear Him to understand His Lessons." Angel hummed in agreement, kissing Mercy on the cheek before slipping past her to get on her way. "Stealing your bed!" Mercy called.

"Already knew that!" Angel called back, scooting past Faith as her smallest, and youngest, Sister staggered past with a yawn, blearily muttering a muffled "good morning, Sister" before staggering towards the kitchen for food. Grabbing her keys and calling a goodbye over her shoulder, Angel left the large two-bedroom apartment that the Brook Family had claimed as there own, sending a barely-cordial nod towards her Landlord as she spotted him checking his mail. Mr. Harting was a scrawny, weak-spined slimeball who liked to leer at girls that  _everyone_  could  _clearly_  see were underaged. He never went beyond leering, but the last time Honesty had checked the mail by herself, Angel had found herself responding to a Whisper and found the old man all but looming over her sixteen-year-old Sister, and had almost fallen into Wrath herself, nearly breaking the landlords hand as she pulled it from where it was resting on her Sister's hip and, through coldly smiling lips, murmured with the Whisper that, if she ever caught him within two feet of  _any_  of her Sisters, he would Regret It.

They hadn't spoken since, the Brook Family's rent slipped under their door and not so much as a complaint brought to them about anything. He'd even kept his Leers well away, but in recent months, she'd caught that gaze slipping towards her Sisters. Mercy and Joy knew to Watch him, and the younger ones traveled in groups.

Still, she hadn't Heard anything, and so she was content to let him keep to himself.

For now.

Climbing onto her black MoPed, helmet secured, Angel pulled carefully out of the apartment parking lot and headed towards the Station.

The place in her Head and Heart where she Heard God's Whispers felt... Tense, almost. Anticipatory. And, despite not Hearing anything, she Felt...

Well, it was like she told Mercy.

Something Big was Coming, and Angel would be a part of it.

She could only Pray that it wouldn't bring Harm to Her Family, but she Trusted in His Guidance. If this Thing, whatever it was, was part of her Destined Path, than she had no Doubt that her Sisters would be brought in as well, and God had yet to lead her down any Road that lead to their Harm.

She Trusted in Him, and He Guided her Wings to Carry her Family through Strife.

She would Endure.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had some fun writing this chapter. The bit with Hope on the Phone, let me just say that my baby sister answered my phone the last time my Boss called and said "Sluts Anonymous, who and how would you like to Fuck today? We've got an orgasmic discount for couples today~!" No Joke. XD
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, sorry for any confusion, please review!
> 
> Ages At End Of This Chapter:
> 
> Angel – 25 – Junior Deputy
> 
> Mercy – 22 – MMA fighter/Online Work
> 
> Joy – 19 - Waitress
> 
> Hope – 18 – High School Senior
> 
> Charity – 17 – High School Junior
> 
> Honesty – 16 – High School Softmore
> 
> Patience – 15 High School Freshmen
> 
> Faith – 14 – Middle School "Senior"


	3. 2

**Angel's Wings**

**.2.**

As soon as she walked through the Station doors, Angel found the familiar form of Staci Pratt throwing his lanky arm around her shoulders, a bright grin doing little to hide the nervous sweat on his forehead and skittish eyes.

"You are  _not_  gonna believe the shit-storm we've signed up for, Rook," he told her earnestly as Joey Hudson joined them as Pratt used his arm to steer Angel through the station towards the Sheriffs office. "You know that cult out in Hope County? The one that we occasionally catch promotion videos from?" Angel blinked, brow furrowing for a second before smoothing out again as she nodded.

"With the guy with yellow glasses," she said; Pratt bobbed his head earnestly while Hudson rolled her eyes.

"Joseph Seed," the older Deputy told her, dark eyes amused. "The self-proclaimed 'Father' of the Project Edens Gate cult." Angel nodded, vaguely recalling a few talks about the PEG group. Mostly about whether they were suspicious or not, to which almost everyone said 'They're a Cult,  _of course_  they're fucked up!' and left it at that.

"Well, turns out that they've been doin' some seriously shady shit, you know?" Pratt continued. "So now, we've got a US Marshal who thinks he's some kinda cowboy hero." The older Deputy, still leaning on her shoulders, glanced around them, eyes honestly nervous even as his expression remained in its usually cocky grin.

"We've got a Warrant to arrest the 'Father' himself," he told her softly, and that nervousness edged behind his mocking whisper, making it fall halfway between flat and frightened. "And the Marshal wants to go  _tonight_." Angel blinked, frowning.

"Why tonight?" She asked, confused; Hudson took over.

"Apparently Joseph will be stuck in one place for the whole night," the older woman told her calmly. "He's doing a full-day sermon or some such thing. His brothers and adopted sister are going to be there, too, which is why its going to be so long. Marshal Burke's insisting that we all storm in there  _tonight_  because he says that the Seed's will scatter to the winds if they get even a hint of whats gonna happen." Angel nodded slowly.

"Insists is a  _soft_ word," Pratt muttered, leaning away from Angel but keeping an arm companionably over her. "He's chomping at the bit, hard-dicked with the idea that he'll get to arrest  _the_  Joseph Seed himself," Pratt mocked, before shaking his head. "Mark my words, guys, this has 'cluster fuck'  _aaaaaall_  over it."

"Thank you for your opinion, Staci," the Sheriff's voice said mildly, and the three of them looked up to find the older man standing in the doorway of his office, brow arched. "Now, if you're all done gossipin' like fish-wives, we've gotta get Rook up to speed."

"Yes Sheriff," Pratt and Hudson agreed, shuffling Angel through the doors after their boss. There was another man there, from the looks of his vest he was the mentioned Marshal, and Angel offered him a polite nod before taking the seat in front of the Sheriff's desk when gestured at.

"What's the situation, Sheriff?" She asked; Whitehorse sighed and handed her a tablet, gesturing at a pile of folders directly in front of him.

"A giant pile of shit is what the situation is, Rookie," he told her bluntly, dragging a hand through his gray hair. "A giant pile of shit we should just leave well enough  _alone_ ," he grumbled; instantly, the tensed form of the Marshal shot that down with the same sort of arrogance that Angel had come to expect from people in any sort of position of power.

"That's not an option, Sheriff," Marshal Burke declared firmly. "Joseph Seed is going to be in our custody tonight, with or without your cooperation. Justice  _will_  be served, and those trapped and endangered by Seed's insanity will get their chance to witness the so-called 'Prophet' exposed for the madman he is." Angel blinked once, hard, as the word 'Prophet' sent a sharp, sudden shiver through the Warmth in her chest. It resonated, rang true, and apprehension coiled through her.

If this Joseph Seed  _was_  a Prophet, maybe even  _the_  Prophet...

 _What am I supposed to do?_  She questioned the Warmth within her. But, she received no Whispers, no True Direction, only the familiar urge to continue onward, as if there was a hand on her back urging her to keep walking down a path that would eventually split. She had the nagging feeling that this was one of the few Trials her Lord had placed before her. That a Choice would have to be made soon, something that would irrevocably lead to either the right Path, or towards something she'd have to work around until her feet touched the Path once more. She'd had this happen last in High School, when trying to choose a career.

Doctor or Police Officer had been her choices, and, when she'd chosen to be an officer, she had felt the way the world had seemed to  _shift_.

And now she was here.

Taking a slow, deep breath, Angel accepted the headphones Pratt offered, settled into the chair, and clicked play on the tablet to begin watching the videos provided. To watch as Joseph Seed offered Salvation with one hand and Death with the other, every action filled with the fanatical passion of those Truly Gifted or Truly Ill. And she watched him kill those deemed Sinners and those who stood against him. And, but the time she finished and they were discussing how the operation was going to go, she found herself torn again.

Had Joseph Seed been any other man, been a stranger, a con artist, she would have been hunting him with confidence and Wrath in her heart. But, if he was Truly a Prophet, she could not Hunt him with Wrath, for God Chose his Prophets for a Purpose. And Angel, sitting in that office, felt fear curl at the base of her throat, because, from what she'd heard and seen in those videos, Joseph was no Prophet of Peace or Damnation or Salvation.

He was the Prophet of Ends, and she knew, the same way she Knew when any of her Sisters needed her, that her Choice was coming soon.

And it wouldn't decide  _her_  Path, but the Path of All.

And still, the Warmth was silent within her heart.

**^.^.^.^**

Sitting in the Helicopter as they made their way towards the heart of the Project Edens Gate property, Angel stared out the window contemplatively. With the Choice awaiting her, she could feel the anxiousness stirring within the Warmth. No, not anxious, more anticipatory. And she knew that, whichever Choice was made would Lead to more Choices. And the closer they got to Joseph Seed, the harder it was to keep from just clasping her hands and praying for even a  _hint_.

" _We're crossing over the Henbane now,"_  Pratt's voice announced over the headsets; Angel glanced over towards the Sheriff, before looking back outside...

Just in time to see a giant statue of what she recognized as Joseph Seed.

" _Oh fuck, there he is,"_  Hudson complained, scoffing faintly.

" _Crazy motherfucker."_ Pratt agreed.

" _Jesus,"_  agreed the Sheriff.

" _We're officially in peggie country,"_  Hudson sighed, shaking her head with a frown.

" _How much longer?"_ the Marshall called, looking up from his Warrant.

" _Just long enough for you to change your mind,"_  the Sheriff told him tartly,  _"so we can turn this bird around."_

" _You want me to ignore a **federal warrant** , Sheriff?" _Marshall asked, a stern glare covering up the disquiet Joseph Seed's massive...  _Idol_ , had drawn on him.

" _No Sir,"_  the Sheriff corrected, sounded tired. From what Angel had seen, this was an argument that had been brought up multiple times since Marshall Burke had come to the Station.  _"I want you to understand the reality of this situation. Joseph Seed, he's **not**  a man to be  **fucked**  with. We've had run-ins with him before, and they haven't always gone our way. Just sometimes... Sometimes, it's best to leave well enough alone."_

" _Yeah, well,"_  Burke replied,  _"We have Laws for a **reason** , Sheriff. And Joseph Seed is going to learn that."_ The Sheriff eyed Burke silently as the Marshall returned his gaze out the window, and then called for Pratt to open a call with Dispatch. Ignoring the conversation around her, Angel stared out the window once more, taking in the beautiful Montana countryside as they flew.

She'd called Mercy and Joy before they'd left, and told them about what was happening. And, like the one other maybe-deadly mission she'd been on in the last year with Department (that time involving a possibly-rabid Grizzly Bear), she had them prepare for her to be Late. They'd set this plan up long ago. After a full forty-eight hours, Mercy and Joy would share custody of the younger Sister, canceling any out-of-town jobs within reason and starting the background search for answers.

After a week, they would begin to subtly pull the girls from their curricular activities. Start insulating themselves, to keep one another close and make sure nothing else happened.

If she didn't return for a month, but wasn't declared dead and no body was found, they would go searching for her themselves.

The mission with the Grizzly had seen her lost, wandering the woods, for three days before she stumbled upon a campsite. It was why they had this plan set up, why she always studied survival guides and hunting guides when she had to read things or travel for a job.

God may Whisper in her Heart and Guide her Steps, but, outside of the Path? Outside of a direct Line to whatever Important Thing she needed to find? Angel had absolutely  _no_  sense of direction. Oh, put a weapon in her hand and you'd have yourself a hunter ready to go. Ask her to head north without a working compass, map, and guide?

Yeah, she got lost a lot.

And with the Choice and Danger Looming ahead, she was prepared to get more than  _just_  lost.

" _We're here,"_  Pratt's voice called, interrupting the staring-contest between the Marshall and Sheriff.  _"The Compound's just below us."_  Instantly, Angel looked down, and, taking in the Compound, with its flickering barrel fires and barely-heard singing and the movement of obviously armed guards...

" _Oh My Jesus,"_  Pratt muttered.

" _This is a Bad Idea,"_  Hudson agreed, and Angel nodded.

" _Can I call take-backs?"_  She asked, half-trying to alleviate some of the tension, and half-serious. If Mercy had been here, she would have said something like 'nope, I am nope-ing the  _fuck_  outta here'. But that was Mercy.

" _Last chance, Marshall,"_  the Sheriff warned; Burke gave a slow, steady sigh, and, for a moment, it looked like he was finally at least  _considering_  it. But then, his eyes glinted like steel, and his mouth thinned in determination.

" _We're going in,"_  he stated, firmly; the Sheriff slumped back against his seat, mouth pursed beneath his mustache.

" _Set 'er down,"_  he ordered; nothing happened, and he turned to eye the front of the 'copter. Angel could just make out how hunched Pratt's shoulders had suddenly gotten. _"Pratt,"_  the Sheriff said, understanding but firm.

" _Rodger that,"_  Pratt replied, slightly clipped.

And then they were on the ground, and Angel was more than mildly alarmed to see one of the cultists with a  _flamethrower_ of all things.

... _Lord_ , she thought mildly, staring at the fading flames for a moment.  _I Trust in Your Plan, and that You have Called me to Walk this Path I'm on. But, I admit, that this is more than slightly terrifying, so please, Forgive Me as I waver, for I am but Human and am afraid to Burn._

"Now listen up," the Sheriff declared as they all began to ready themselves. "Three Rules. Stick close, keep you guns in your holsters, and let  _me_  do all the talking. Got it?"

"Got it," Burke agreed.

"Rookie?" the Sheriff asked, making Angel lock eyes with him.

"You've got it, Sheriff," she agreed; he nodded, and glanced over his shoulder.

"Alright everyone," he called. "Stay sharp. Let's go!" At the signal, everyone but Pratt exited the Helicopter, and Angel could hardly breathe through the Strength of the Warmth that started vibrating through her chest.

It was time to move.

The Choice was coming up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KingOfWhispers - I fixed the Are versus Our issues, thank you for pointing it out to me!!


	4. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that Angel never really refers to the cultists as Peggies, and this is because I feel that her personality and Beliefs would make her feel like it was disrespectful. Like it was a mocking/minor slur against them just because of their beliefs. So she refers to them as Believers, Cultists, Faithful, things like that. ^-^
> 
> Also: Kudos to KingOfWhispers, I fixed those Typos, thank you for pointing them out and also for reading! ^-^

 

**Angel's Wings**

**.3.**

Angel refrained from grimacing as the group headed into the heart of the PEG Compound. All around, they were being stared at, hostile eyes watching them from dirty faces. Angry dogs snarled and barked as they moved towards the church, and Angel found herself trailing behind her friends, the Warmth in her Heart pulsing brighter and louder, a heavy Thrum of  _keep going keep going so closecloseclose._

Behind them, more and more cultists wandered into the street, choking off their retreat with clubs and guns and machetes in hand and hostile eyes. Angel did her best to meet those unfriendly gazes, to hold them as she passed, not in a challenging way, but with a dip of her head, as if nodding to someone on the street. More than one of them seemed cautiously confused, although one man with a shotgun sent her a mocking salute and then spun his gun like a baton and leered before sauntering into the slowly gathering crowd.

 _Lord, please Grant me Patience and Understanding_ , she prayed as she ignored the antagonistic cockiness of the Marshall as they approached the Church. The people hissed and muttered, but they stayed well back. Faintly, Angel could hear singing inside the white-painted Church, and couldn't help a small smile as she recognized  _Amazing Grace_.

It was a good song.

The Marshall immediately reached for the door, hand still on his gun, but the Sheriff stopped him.

"Whoa, Marshall," he said softly. "Now, we do this, we do this  _my_  way. Quietly.  _Calmly_. You got it?" The Marshall huffed, impatient irritation flashing across his face, but shrugged, offering his palms out.

" _Fine_ ," he said, almost mulish, and in her Heart the Warmth grew clearer, stronger, and she could just  _barely_ make out that there was a Whisper, repeating over and over again beneath it, but she couldn't Hear it clearly,

"Hudson," the Sheriff continued, "on the door. Watch our backs." He glance past them, to the unhappily murmuring crowd. "Don't let any of these people get in. Rookie," he glanced at Angel, who blinked twice, struggling to hear him over the almost too-loud Thrum in her Heart. "On me. And  _you_ ," he added, turning back to the Marshall. "Just, try not to do anything  _stupid_." Burke reached forward, gripping the Sheriff's shoulder with a cocky smirk.

" _Relax_ , Sheriff," he urged. "You're about to get your  _name_  in the Paper." Angel couldn't help but snort a little.

"Pride, Envy, and Greed are Sins for a reason, Marshall," she told him mildly. "Not everyone  _wants_  to be in the paper, let alone for something like  _this_." Burke scoffed.

"Whatever you say,  _Rookie_ ," he replied derisively; Angel refrained from frowning at him as the Sheriff shook his head. Turning, he pushed open the doors, and the singing had since changed from  _Amazing Grace_  to a wordless, Gregorian mesh that rang through the Warmth in her Heart and stirred the Thrum into a steady rhythm.

And, beneath it, the Whisper shifted and rose and fell.

_~Th...F...el...is...k...n~_

Angel's head tilted, blinking rapidly with a frown, and Hudson caught her shoulder gently.

"You'll be fine," the older Deputy soothed, nodding after the two men who were slowly stepping into the Church. Angel squared her shoulders and stepped after them, hand well away from her gun. She would  _not_  draw her weapon in a Church. Churches were places of Safety, Sanctuary, where one should go when they seek Respite. Sometimes, Violence is needed, or Warranted, but she would  _not_  sully this Churches Sanctity with bloodshed begot from the Pride and Arrogance of the Marshall.

_~Th...Fr...S...l...is...Br...k...n.~_

The singing came to a slow stop as they stepped onto the hard floor.

"Something is Coming," the deep, near-wistful sounding voice of Joseph Seed announced solemnly. Angel couldn't see him from where she stood, only his silhouette under the bright light at the end of the open stretch they stood on, pews filled with armed Believers on either side. "You can feel it, can't you?" He continued as they slowly walked forward. Angel gave slight nods to the armed guards they were carefully passing. "That we are creeping toward the Edge...and there  _will_  be a Reckoning."

_~Br...k...th...S..l...gel~_

The Whisper was Growing Clearer, and Angel's head ached from the Thrum of Warmth.

"That is why we  _started_  The Project," Joseph called. "Because we Know what happens Next!  _They_  will come.  _They_  will try to  _take_  from Us. Take our  _guns_. Take our  _Freedom_... Take our  _Faith_!"

_~An...l...Bre...k...the...Fir...t...S...l~_

"But We will Not  _let_ Them." Joseph was clearer now, shirtless beneath the light of his Churches Symbol, baring his scars and tattoos. The Sin's he'd had carved into his Flesh were stark and dark but worn, not in Pride, but Acknowledgment of his Faults. The large, yellow sunglasses he'd worn in all the videos all but gleamed in the lighting, as his Believers turned to stare at their group with Hostility.

"Sheriff, c'mon," Burke muttered disbelievingly as he looked at Whitehorse, but the Sheriff shook his head firmly.

"Just  _hold on_ , Marshall," he replied, as Joseph continued his Sermon.

"We will Not let their  _Greed_ , or Their  _Immorality_ , or Their  _Depravity_  Hurt Us anymore!"

"Sheriff!" Burke hissed.

"Do  _not_  pull  _that_  trigger," Whitehorse murmured back. "Remain calm..."

"There will be No more Suffering!" Joseph cried, loud and clear.

"No,  _fuck this_ ," Burke hissed, stepping forward aggressively, raising his Warrant high. "Joseph Seed! I have a Warrant issued for your arrest!" He shouted, and those yellow glasses gleamed as Joseph turned to look at him, face almost serene, completely unsurprised.

_~Angel~_

The Whispering...

"On the Suspicion of Kidnapping With Intent to Harm," Burke continued as Angel grew unfocused, trying her best to Listen.

_~You must Br..k the Fir... Se...~_

"Now I want you to step forward, and keep your hands where I can see 'em," Burke ordered, and Angel blinked once, hard, as the Thrumming abruptly ended in her Heart, and left behind only the Silence that came with a held Breath. On his slightly raised platform, Joseph held Burke's gaze, and slowly lifted his hands, palms facing outward.

"There They are," he said quietly, clearly, face solemn. "The Locusts in Our Garden..." the Armed guards were stepping forward, surrounding their group, making Burke and Whitehorse shift nervously, but Angel was too busy Listening to do more than blink slowly. "You see They've come for me. They've come to Take me away from You." Behind them, the Believers grew more upset, crying out and shouting and snarling.

_~Angel~_

"They've Come to Destroy all that We've Built!" Joseph shouted as the crowd seemed to grow in both number and rage. Burke reached for his gun.

"Hold on," Sheriff shouted at him "Do  _not_  touch that Service Weapon!" Burke was shouting to, telling them all to put their guns down now. "Hold on and stand down! Stand Down! Everyone calm down!" Immediately, before the shouting of the crowd could grow too intense, before the Guards could do violence, Joseph Seed stepped down among them, placing his hands on the shoulders of those closest, and the room went Silent.

_~Angel~_

"We knew this moment would Come," Joseph told his congregation calmly, soothingly, meeting his Flock's gaze. "We have Prepared for it." The closest guard folded his hands over his chest, as if begging for it not to be true. "Go," Joseph ordered, softly, gently, lifting his gaze from his frightened Believers, and looking at Angel for the first time. "Go," he ordered again, calmly, looking away, and Angel blinked slowly at him as the Believers obeyed. The Guards purposely walked between their group, forcing the Marshall and Sheriff to move aside or else be bumped into, but they slipped around Angel, whose dazed eyes once more locked on those of Joseph Seeds behind his yellow glasses.

"God will Not let Them Take Me," he told her, and like word 'Prophet' rang True, so did this. The Church began to empty and, once more, Joseph lifted his hands above him, in Supplication, in Welcome, as his brothers and sister stood gathered behind him, unmoving.

And the Whisper went silent in Angel's Heart, and she was filled with that Anticipation, that Acceptance of Her Choice. The Whispers had tried to Tell her, tried to urge her onto the Right Path without giving her no Choice, but now, now it was all on Her.

Sweat that had nothing to do with the humidity of the Church gathered on her forehead as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

"I Saw when the Lamb would Open the First Seal," Joseph called, reverently, knowingly. "And I Heard, as it were the Voice of Thunder, one of the Four Beasts say 'Come and See'!"

"Step. Forward," Burke ordered sharply.

"And I  _Saw_ ," Joseph hissed, dropping his hands and locking eyes on Burke, taking that step forward with a fierce stare. "And behold, it was a  _white horse_ ," he continued, turning towards the Sheriff, who leaned back a little, face stone-still but unease clear. Those bespectacled eyes turned slowly to Angel. "And  _Hell_  followed behind him." he finished quietly, solemnly, and Angel's breath caught as she found herself leaning forward slightly, drawn by the Intensity in Joseph Seeds gaze, even as shielded as it was behind his glasses. She wondered, in that dazed moment, if he wore them so that he didn't overwhelm those who met his gaze, because, even where she was, a good six or so feet from him, his eyes captured, ensnared, but it wasn't a forceful thing, wasn't the look of a predator hunting prey. Wasn't  _hungry_.

It was...

It was...  _Enchanting_.

It brought forth the same feelings one got when seeing something so much bigger than yourself, like seeing the sea for the first time, or a sunset or dawn or a flash of lightning or a natural disaster. It pulled your heart into your throat, filled the empty space in your chest with awe and stunned your mind, even as a thrill of uncertainty, of unease, curled low in your gut, far enough to ignore or to remind that caution was needed, but still overwhelmed.

In his Eyes she Saw the same way she Heard the Whisper, and she Knew.

He  _was_  a Prophet.

He Heard God's Whispers like She did, but greater, for he Saw them as well.

And, as he held his hands out, that intensity in his eyes taking her breath away, she was stunned still, swallowed by the memory of the First Time she Heard the Whisper, when she sat beside her broken Mother in the Cellar and felt Lost.

And then, Burke spoke.

"Rookie," he said, and Angel blinked once, feeling dazed. "Cuff this son of a bitch." And then, she Knew.

Her Choice had Come.


	5. 4

**Angel's Wings**

**.4.**

Angel felt like the world had gone still, like her lungs had gotten the air sucked out of them. She barely managed not to sway, staring at Joseph Seed's outstretched hands as the pressure of Choice weighed on her. This... This felt  _so much_  bigger than her Choice in High School, and she had thought that  _that_  had been the heaviest Choice in her life. This...

 _This was too_   _big_.

Immediately after the thought, the panic and stress in her head seemed to drain away, and she felt ashamed that she'd almost let her fear consume her, even for just a moment. Because this was a part of Gods Plan, and she had been Called to make this Choice.  _She_  had been Called.

 _The Lord Giveth and the Lord Taketh Away,_  her Mother whispered in her memories.  _But never more than we can Endure, my Angel._

"Do it, Rook," Burke ordered, and Angel lifted her gaze from those hands, to stare into Joseph's yellow-shielded eyes. And, holding that gaze contemplatively, she decided what to do.

 _God will Not let Them Take Me_ , he'd said, and that rang True, rang True like Prophet and Love and Faith rang true, which meant that, even if she  _did_  arrest him, he would not be taken away. Which meant that it was the  _aftermath_  of what her Choice was that was Important.

Should she  _not_  arrest him, she felt that something would just be put off, shelved for another time, waiting. To put the cuffs on him...

That felt like it was  _Right._  Like Beginning and End and Middle all mixed together on the same Path.

So, with a faint nod to herself, Angel stepped forward, past the nervous, impatient Marshal and the pointedly silent Sheriff, and, holding those eyes, she gently clasped her hand over Josephs, and wrapped the cuff around one of his wrists.

Immediately, the second the second cuff was in place, her breath stuttered as the Warmth in her Heart  _roared_ , and once more the world  _shifted._

"Sometimes the best thing to do," Joseph whispered to her softly, "is to just  _walk away_." And then, as she breathed in slowly, shakily, the Whisper returned, Clear and Firm and utterly Consuming.

_~The First Seal has been Broken.~_

"The First Seal has been Broken," she whispered back, dazed and feeling like she was filled with Light, swaying faintly for a moment, her slightly glazed eyes locking with Josephs for one, heart-stopping second, watching as those eyes widen faintly, in understanding, in  _Knowing_ , and then—

Then it was over and she could  _breathe_  and she did, inhaling a shaky breath and breaking eye contact, dropping her gaze back to the cuffed hands of the Prophet, squeezing them once before releasing them to slide behind him and set her black-gloved fingers against his shoulder, firm and steady but not controlling, just  _there_.

"Let's go," The Sheriff ordered after a nod at the Marshall to lead the way, voice quiet and solemn as they moved towards the Door. Joseph moved easily, offering no resistance beneath her hand, and Angel made no move to make him go faster. There was no need, the Choice had been made, and God would lead her onward.

Outside the Church found the crowd  _mostly_  dispersed, leaving only the armed and ready behind, and a nervous Hudson.

"We've got to get the  _fuck_  out of here," the older Deputy told them; Sheriff nodded sternly.

"Marshall, take point," he ordered; Burke nodded and did so. "Stay on the path, Rookie," he called; Angel hummed.

"I never stray from the Path," she replied, voice coming out unintentionally breezy, and she knew she sounded dazed and near-faint. The Sheriff cast her a worried look, before shaking it off and pushing onward. Behind the group, Angel followed, hand still on Josephs shoulder. The armed guards from the Church watched them unhappily, but made no move to stop them. The others, though...

"Back up!" Burke ordered. "Back up!" Angel rounded a corner in time to see the Marshall shove one of the upset Believers away, sending them to the ground to the unhappy cries of the others watching.

"Burke!" The Sheriff barked sharply, urging him to keep moving. The woman who he'd pushed to the ground reached towards Joseph, and Angel didn't hesitate to take her hand in her own free one and help her up, if only to gently urge her back. A guard stepped forward and pulled her away.

"Please, don't take him!" The woman begged, tears in her eyes, and Angel gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry," she told the woman as the guard pulled her further away. "It'll all work out." And Angel moved on, managing to catch up a bit to her group.

"You understand, then, the Path you are walking, Deputy," Joseph murmured to her; Angel hummed.

"I know the Direction," she told him. "The Destination is up to Him." Joseph hummed in either agreement or acknowledgment, and they moved onward. Burke had since drawn his gun, skittish and edging towards angry as he gestured it at the Believers who reached towards their Father with desperate, pleading hands and tear-filled eyes, but they didn't try to take him from her hold.

"Stay close, Rookie," Hudson ordered worriedly; Angel nodded placidly back.

"I am a  _Federal Marshal_ ," Burke declared to those few who  _did_  try and stop them. "I am ordering you to  _stand back_!"

"Pride," Joseph murmured quietly, coolly.

"Envy and Greed as well," Angel replied, equally cool, firmly disapproving as she watched the Marshal. Then, one of the Faithful hit him with a thrown rock, and the Sheriff shouted his name.

"Weapons out!" He barked, alarmed. "Weapons out, and get to the chopper!" Burke immediately shot his gun twice in the air as Hudson and the Sheriff tried to cover them all while halfway to surrounded. Gently, Angel pressed against Josephs shoulder, and he obligingly lengthened his strides so that they slipped between her friends and made it to the helicopter. Pratt was cursing repeatedly, voice edged in panic as Hudson hopped into the copter first so she could help pull Joseph in.

"Fucking peggies," he was chanting, over and over again, while behind her, Angel heard Burke barking at the Faithful to stay back.

"Get in!" He shouted, shoving at her shoulder as she helped Joseph into the copter. "Get in!" She pulled herself up obligingly, grimacing as the desperate cultists began trying to break their way in through the unguarded side of the helicopter, forcing it to rock back and forth.

"Get them off the windshield!" Pratt shouted.

"Close the fucking door!" Burke shouted as well, barely in the vehicle even as the Faithful swarm them.

"Pratt! Climb!" Sheriff barked. "Shake 'em off!" As they begin rising, one of the Faithful managed to grab Burkes gun-arm, nearly pulling him from the copter, and Angel reacted, leaning half-out herself in order to jab the pressure-point in Burkes arm, making his hand release the gun. Instantly, the cultist fell, caught by the waiting, reaching members on the ground.

"What the fuck, Rookie!" the Marshall shouted, yanking himself upright and clutching his hand; Angel looked at him coolly.

"A handgun isn't worth your life, Marshall," she told him sharply. "And keeping that gun wasn't worth that mans, either. If you hadn't held on, you would have had to shoot him to make him let go. Dropping the gun was better for  _both_  of you." He snarled at her as the Sheriff shouted on the headset for Nancy. Then he turned to try and help the Sheriff and Pratt get the cultists still clinging to the helicopter off, and Angel found herself being grabbed by a desperate woman as she tried to both climb in to and not fall from the copter.

"Don't let go," Angel ordered the woman as she tried to grip the cultists hands, the frail body swinging out and away from the doorway as Pratt turned the bird to and fro to make people fall. "Don't—!" The woman slipped from her hands, dark eyes wide and frightened, and Angel lunged, trying to grab her, only for her belt to be grabbed by Hudson, yanking her back inside, fingertips just barely brushing the woman's own before she fell to the cold, hard ground.

"Jesus Christ," Hudson gasped as Angel was forced back into her seat, the older Deputy already turning back to trying to force another Believer off. Angel sat still and silent, before absentmindedly buckling herself in. She just  _stared_  at her fingertips for a second afterwards, and just closed her eyes.

 _Lord_ , she prayed, heart  _aching_  for the woman.  _Please take care of her soul, of her brothers and sisters who die now, trying to regain their Prophet. Please bless their families and loved ones, for their Sacrifice will not be in vain_. Opening her eyes, Angel turned her gaze to the Prophet, who was calm and still, eyes closed and head tilted back, either listening to his own Whispers, or Praying himself.

Then, he began to sing, words just barely heard over the panicked shouting of her team and the Believers.

" _...I once was lost..."_

The cultist on the windshield threw himself desperately upward, and into the spinning blades, sending a flood of blood down the glass.

The Helicopter began to spin, sending the few Believers still clinging to their deaths.

" _...But now am found..."_

"Brace for im—!" the Sheriff started to cry, but they hit the ground. Angel's head slammed into the door-frame, and the world faded quickly to black.

" _...Was Blind..._

_...But now..._

_...I See..."_

**^.^.^.^.^**

She didn't know how long she was unconscious, just that it was long enough for fires to spread, slowly but surely, and that the ringing in her ears made the sounds muffled and echo like they were under water. Blinking blood from her eyes, she realized that, yes, they were upside down, and Burke was unconscious across from her. Nancy's voice, muffled and staticky, was crying out over the headsets, trying to get anyone to answer her, desperate. ANgel couldn't make out the front of the copter, but, beside her, Hudson was also unconscious and, through bleary eyes, she could see that Joseph was gone. Either thrown from the copter or gone himself, or maybe grabbed by his Faithful, although she doubted it, since they would have wanted revenge for the Marshall and them  _daring_  to try and take Their Father.

" _Are you there?"_  Nancy asked, panicked, begging, and Angel blinked twice, trying to right her double-vision as she finally focused on a swinging headset.  _"Are you there, Sheriff?"_  Glancing around again, Angel reached for it weakly, absently noting that her gloves were wet with blood. She missed, double-vision making it difficult to catch the slowly swinging headset as Nancy grew more desperate, crying out for them.

" _Amazing Grace,"_  Joseph's voice sang out from somewhere, and Angel strained to reach the headset.  _"How sweet the sound..."_  Her hand, finally, caught hold of the swinging headset—

Only for Joseph himself to lean in, looking up at her with barely a mark on him, even his glasses mostly intact but for a tiny crack in one corner. His eyes held hers just as his hand held her captured wrist on the headset, firm but gentle, a little scolding.

" _That saved, a wretch,"_  he sang to her softly, leaning in a little.  _"Like me..."_  He pulled the headset down, and her arm came with it, and he tilted his head towards her. "I  _told_  you that God wouldn't let you take me," he told her, softly, serenely, and Angel could only nod slowly, blinking fuzzy vision away. He released his grip on her arm, only to reach forward and stroke his fingers down her cheek gently, tenderly. Then, he pulled his hand away, and picked up the headset as Nancy begged for answers.

"Dispatch," he called, voice calm and stern.

" _Oh_ ," Nancy's voice trembled out.  _"Oh my God..."_

"Everything is just fine here," he told her, eyes holding Angel's own, forcing her to continue trying to focus, to not fall unconscious again. "No need to call anyone."

" _Yes, Father,"_  Nancy's voice agreed, sounding calm and relieved, only a little shaky.  _"Praise be to You."_  And Angel realized that Nancy had been in on it, had been one of the Believers the whole time, and hurt coiled in her heart for a moment. Nancy had always been kind and friendly with her, asking after her sisters and writing down little recipes or Life Hacks for her to use, like how to get ink out of a hand-wash-only dress and other little, helpful things. And now, to know that she had been a member of the PEG group the whole time, that she had been listening in and perhaps sharing information with the cult—!

Angel took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and, when she breathed out, let go of the pain and sense of betrayal in her heart.

Nancy Followed her Prophet, Believed in Him and chose to live and work outside his compound. She was  _still_  the kind woman who helped Angels family, still the mothering woman who asked after them and snuck her a cookie after a long day. This didn't make her any different, this was just a side of her, an aspect of her private life, that Angel hadn't been privy to. This... This wasn't a betrayal, but a sharing of a secret, and Angel would not condemn her for it.

Angel had never asked what Nancy believed in, and Nancy had no obligation to share it with her.

Opening her eyes again, she found Joseph had leaned forward, and those intense eyes behind the glasses were sharply assessing, searching her dazed gaze for something in response. Whatever he found, it softened his eyes, gentled them, and made they warm with a sort of pride that wasn't for himself but for another's actions, and he once more touched her face, cupping it gently so he could lean forward and brush their foreheads together, sharing a breath.

"No one is coming to save you, Little Lamb," he whispered, achingly True, and Angel took a slow, deep breath, smelling blood and hot metal and burning wood.

"God Helps those whom Help Themselves, Joseph," she breathed back, and he closed his eyes with a faint smile, and nodded slightly, forehead brushing against hers again, before he pulled away and released her face.

"Come back to me when you are Ready, Child," he told her softly, tenderly. "Come to me, and you will be welcomed into my Family with open arms. Until then, Child," he said, voice gentling, softening, until she could barely hear it, could make out the shouts of approaching cultists and the faint stirring of her teammates as they start to regain consciousness, "Run. Run, Little Lamb, and stay safe." With that, he looked up as a truck came to a stop outside the reach of the flames, and climbed neatly out of the chopper, to the relieved, awed cries of his Followers.

" _Everything is unfolding as to God's Plan,"_  his voice called earnestly to them, and Hudson shook herself groggily while Burke groaned across from her.  _"I am still here with you."_  Through the flames, Angel watched him climb up on top of the hood of the truck so that all of his Faithful could see him.  _"The First Seal has been Broken! The Collapse has begun. And we will Take was We Need. And we will Preserve what we Have. And we will **Kill**  all those who Stand in Our way!"_ Burke coughed, grunting in pain and Angel dropped her gaze from the Prophet as he called his Flock to him, and began to painfully try to undo her belt, grimacing as her ribs and stomach ached from the pain, her neck stiff with a mix of the angle it had been at and whiplash.

" _And these,"_  he called in the background as her fingers fumbled.  _"The Harbingers of Doom, will See the Truth!"_

"We gotta get outta here," Burke slurred out, voice quiet and tight. "We gotta get outta here..."

" _BEGIN THE REAPING!"_  Joseph bellowed, and the hair on the back of Angels neck stood up, and the Warmth in her chest Thrummed with focus and, suddenly, Hudson was crying out and cursing as she was being pulled from the wreckage, the Sheriff was crying out Pratt's name, and Angel  _could not get free_.

"Jesus  _Christ_ ," Burke hissed furiously as he yanked at his belt. "We've gotta get the  _fuck_  out of here!" Angel blinked slowly in agreement, head still aching, and glanced over as a Cultist started to lean into the copter. The Warmth in her Heart roared, and the fire roared with it, a short wall of flame exploding upward within the doorway and sending the Believer back out with a cry. The fire died back down as the Roar returned to a Thrum, but the fire remained too high for them to get in.

" _Let them Burn,"_  Joseph called soothingly.  _"This is God's Will. This is Their Punishment."_  And he sounded somber, even sad, and the Faithful pulled away to leave them. Turning her gaze away from the flames, away from the Prophet and his Faithful, Angel blinked, startled, as Burke not  _only_ managed to free himself...

But also promptly abandoned her to her death, throwing himself out of the wreckage and fleeing into the trees.

Staring after him for a moment, bewildered and mildly indignant, Angel scowled and the Warmth thrummed once, firm and hard against her Heart, and effectively pulling her thoughts back to what she needed to do. She ignored the sounds of Cultists giving chase after the Marshall, and instead dragged her fingers across her tangled, mangled belt.

Another Thrum in her Heart and, suddenly, the belt was looser, and she was able to carefully free herself. Slipping out of the copter, unflinchingly crawling through flames which didn't burn her, she drew to her feet and stepped towards the woods, the Thrum in her Heart turning into a wordless song.

And, as the Cultists noticed  _her_  leaving, she did as the Prophet and God both urged.

Taking a deep, painful breath, Angel threw herself forward, and began to Run.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed, Burke is one of my least favorite characters. I much preferred him in that little boat, drugged outta his mind, no matter how bad I felt that he was essentially Roofied. He was an arrogant, selfish dick and I don't like him.
> 
> I have No Regrets.


	6. 5

**Angel's Wings**

**.5.**

Angel is running, has  _been_  running, for what felt like an hour now. Her neck made looking around painful, her ribs felt tight and it hurt for her to take deep breaths, and she found out that the blood that had made her gloves wet was because of a nasty laceration on her right forearm that she'd been forced to sacrifice a strip off her shirt to bind it or risk bleeding out. She'd seen no sign of Burke, only the echoing cries and shouts of the Believers, and she discovered that her radio had been broken in the crash.

She was injured, lost, alone, and being hunted.

Staggering to a stop at the top of a ravine, which lead sharply down into the lake, Angel hunched over her knees and wheezed, gasping for breath as much as her ribs allowed. She hadn't heard any of the cultists in a good little while, not since the sound of distant explosions and gunshots had started. Gasping in great gulps of air, Angel didn't know how much longer she could keep her legs moving. She'd only made it this far by instinctively falling into the Warmth's steady, soothing Thrum.

 _Lord, give me Strength,_  she prayed, choking down a cough as her throat ached, knowing that coughing would only make her already painful neck-muscles cramp and her ribs scream.  _Grant me Strength, Persistence, and Endurance, so I may Continue on this Path You have Chosen me for._ Dragging in one more shaky, gasping breath, the Warmth Thrummed again, and Angel followed it without hesitation, sliding down the ravine she stood upon and slipping into the cold water below, gritting her teeth against the sharp bite of it, despite the relief it brought to her heat-sensitive and sweaty skin. Wading into the water, grimacing as her clothes weighed her down and her gun no doubt was ruined, she continued on, carefully swimming towards a specific bit of lakeside. Above her, a bridge crossed the water, and she could barely make out the flickering of torches as guards patrolled the road blocks. As soon as she got to the stretch of beach, the Warmth sent her skittering behind some boulders, and she sat there, shivering, as above her the sounds of gunshots and explosions and squealing tires drew closer, and then it was  _there_ , crashing through the barriers and sending people and rubble falling into the lake to sink.

And then there was a plane, and a fire fight between truck and plane, until the truck was forced from the bridge.

And, the whole time, Angel just sort of...  _Stared_.

"...The Lord works in Mysterious Ways," she muttered disbelievingly as she observed the fiery mess. "...And is probably a fan of action movies." The Warmth gave a firm push, and Angel ducked down behind the boulder once again, just in time for another truck, this one marked clearly with the PEG's cross, drove up onto the beach closest to the water-logged truck. And, out of the water, the furious, terrified form of Marshall Burke rose in the shallows, and a surge of the Believers swarmed him.

"No!" He shouted, bellowed, like a wounded bull. "Get off me! I am a United States Federal Marshall!" Before there was the sound of a rifle butt hitting flesh and the Marshall went silent.

"This one needs a little  _Faith_ ," one of the Believers grunted. "Take him to the Pilgrimage." Angel closed her eyes, and bowed her head. She did not like the Marshall, she didn't like his attitude, his arrogance, his Sins that he saw as Commendable Traits.

But, whether she liked him or not, she Prayed that no further harm would come to him.

Releasing a shaky breath as the PEG truck drove away, leaving behind two flashlight-wielding Faithful, both of which disappeared back into the distant trees, Angel turned her back to the lake, risking one last glance over her shoulder before—

Something rammed into her temple, and the world once more went black.

**^.^.^.^.^**

Angel registered a familiar voice before she even opened her eyes.

" _My Children."_

It was static-y, sounding like a recording, or like it was coming over a speaker.

" _We must give Thanks to God. The Day I have Prophesied to You has Arrived."_

It was... Joseph, yes, it was Joseph's voice, the Prophet. He was... Speaking over the radio.

" _Everything I've told You has come True... The Authorities who tried to Take me from You are now in the Loving Embrace of my Family... Save for one."_

 _He really does have a powerful voice_ , Angel mused groggily as she slowly blinked, trying to bring her vision to focus, unsuccessfully. She definitely had a concussion...

" _But this Wayward Soul will be Found,"_  Joseph continued soothingly.  _"This lost Lamb will be returned to our Flock. They will be Punished for their transgressions, but, in the end, they will see our Glorious Purpose. Will see **Their**  True Purpose."_ Blinking slowly, Angel stared at her hands uncomprehendingly, staring at the zip-ties cuffing her to the metal of a bed-frame as she sat on cool concrete. She gave them a firm tug, grimacing as the plastic tried to bite into her skin beneath her uniform jacket.

" _And she will be Forgiven,"_  Joseph murmured.  _"I am Your Father. You are My Children."_  Looking up and around, Angel paused as she spotted an older man standing over a radio, smoking a cigarette as he listened to Joseph's Radio Sermon. _"And, Together, we will march to—"_  Abruptly, the man clicked the radio off, and glanced over at her.

"You know what that shit means?" He demanded, turning to face her fully. "It means the roads have all been closed." He walked towards her grimly. "It means the phone lines have been cut." He sat down in a chair her dazed, double-vision only just realized was in front of her, his bald head gleaming with sweat under the florescent lighting, white goatee barely covering the grim slash of his mouth beneath the wire frames of his glasses. "It means there's no signals getting in  _or_  out of this valley." He stared at Angel silently, coldly, for several seconds.

"But  _mostly_ ," he told her sharply, "it means  _we're all Fucked_." He glared, before huffing out an exhausted sounding sigh and glancing away, briefly, before turning back. "The goddamn 'Collapse'," he told her. "They all think the world's comin' to an end, now. They've been  _waiting_  for it. For  _years_. Waiting for somebody to come along and fulfill their  _Prophecy_  and kick off their goddamn  _Holy War_. Well, you sure as shit  _kicked_..." Angel blinked slowly at him, and she was mildly concerned about the fact that the pounding, aching of her head had transformed into a dazed sort of... _Floaty_  feeling...

Actually, it kind of reminded her of the Warmth when it Sang out in Joy within her Heart...

The old man sighed a little, sat back and looked away, closing his eyes for a long moment, before he shifted forward, tugging the chair forward a little, and leaning towards Angel, forcing her to once again attempt to focus on him.

"The smartest thing," he told her seriously, "for me to do, would be to just hand you over." He stared at her seriously for several long seconds, before abruptly looking away. " _Fuck_ ," he hissed, glancing back her before his mouth thinned and he pushed himself to his feet, making Angel dizzy just looking up at him. He pulled something from his pocket and set it to the side, stared at her again, and then pulled out a knife and knelt down. Angel didn't moved, too dazed from her concussion and Trusting in her Lord that no harm would come to her here...

No  _serious_  harm, at least.

And she had no reason to fear, because all the man did was kneel down and cut the zip-ties holding her captive, before he stood again.

"Get out of that uniform," he ordered her. "We need to burn it." Angel blinked slowly at him.

"I've got a concussion," she informed him calmly, words only slightly slurred as she blinked languidly. The edges of her vision were beginning to darken. "And... And I'm going to pass out... Again," she added, slur thickening as her eyelids fluttered.

"Aw,  _Christ_ ," the man hissed, kneeling back down and catching hold of her shoulder just as the world once more turned black.

**^.^.^.^.^**

Angel came to slowly, this time to silence and an aching, but bandaged, head. Groggily, she sat up, blinking slowly around herself. She was in a concrete room, on a camping cot, and someone had taken off her uniform jacket, boots, gloves and socks, and cut off the long sleeves of her uniform shirt. Her right arm was bandaged, and she noticed bandages around her ribs beneath the homemade tank-top she was now wearing, and leaving her scars bare to the world.

"You're awake," a familiar, gruff voice stated, making her look up, fingertips brushing the bandages on her head, to find the bald man from before standing, half-scowling, in the doorway, clearly uncomfortable. "There's clean clothes there," he told her simply, pointing at a set of dressers. "Get changed, then come find me." With that, he slipped away again, quickly shutting the door behind him, and Angel blinked, bemused. Carefully, oh-so-carefully, she got up out of her bed, swaying only slightly at first, before making her way over to the dressers.

Digging through them carefully, bemused to find so many pieces of random clothes in different sizes and types, she eventually managed to get dressed. Dark blue jeans that fit her hips, even if she had to roll the legs a few times, a red tank top with a black men's dress-shirt, left unbuttoned, over it, and she was done. Her boots and socks were next to the door, and she pulled them on with a pleased smile.

It was so hard to break in good combat boots.

Leaving the room, Angel walked slowly through what she was beginning to understand was some sort of bunker, like those doomsday-preppers were said to have.

 _Although_ , she mused as she slowly wandered through the few small rooms,  _if the World really **is**  coming to an end soon, having this shelter would be a blessing._

She found the man in a room full of maps, security screens, and radios, hunched over a desk.

"So," the man said, leaning up and glancing at her over his shoulder. "Word from around say's you're called Rook. Sorry 'bout the head scramblin'," he told her, awkwardly gesturing at his own head, and Angel shrugged with a small smile.

"Think the helicopter crash did most of the work for me, to be honest," she told him; he hummed.

"Name's Dutch," he told her with a slight shrug, finally turning to face her. "You ready to see if we can't un-fuck this situation?" Angel blinked, amused, before shrugging back.

"I don't have any other pressing plans," she replied wryly; as she listened to Dutch explain what information he'd managed to gather, about her Team and the movements of the PEG, and the proposal of creating a Resistance, Angel wondered if the term Holy War wasn't  _too_  right a description to use.

All the same, Prophet or No, Angel has never been one to turn away from a person in need, and the people who weren't apart of the PEG did  _need_  some help, even if she didn't do as much as they were probably hoping she would. She wouldn't carry their burden upon her back when she was not Called for it, but she would ease it, as much as Her Heart and God's Will allowed. And she  _would_ retrieve her Teammates.

First, however, she had an island to liberate.

And, inside her Heart, the Warmth  _Crooned_.


	7. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joseph POV

 

**Angel's Wings**

**.6.**

Joseph had known of the Arrival of the Self-Righteous long before lovely Nancy had warned him. He'd dreamed of their Arrival, of the Direction the World could Take with them,  _long_  before. He'd known for nearly a year, had warned his Brothers and Sister, his Most Faithful, and they had prepared for all outcomes. He hadn't been shown the Who, exactly, only the Souls.

The hungry black Dog that sought to rise Above His Station, drooling with Greed and Envy while Pride road upon his shoulders with Broken Happiness and Aching Need to be apart of something Greater. He would become sweet Faith's charge, would curl under her soft hands and fall to heel beneath her Blissful Wings.

The wise, solemn White Horse, who bore neither ill nor good intent. He would not fold to either Charm nor Threat, would carry on with head held high. Joseph knew that this one would not join them, would not Follow Them into Eden, and he Mourned this Soul, although he Admired their Resolute Strength. It was not Pride that kept them from Following, but Honor, and that was something to be admired, even in an enemy.

There was the Hummingbird who was so Equally Strong and Weak that Joseph knew none but Jacob could truly clip their wings. They would not join those who would storm His Church, but hover nearby, skittish yet determined.  _Loyal_. They would cave beneath his Brothers Boot, but they would also Sing to those Lost Souls sent her Brothers way, and bring them Strength in Hope.

There was the Cobra, frightened and still, waiting to strike, who would lay just beyond the Churches doors and stand Guard. They would bite and hiss and poison themselves before folding, but that poison would be why they would go to John. Sweet, misunderstood John, who would hurt and cajole and torment until the Cobra grew too tired, too hopeless to Bite, and then, he would catch them behind the head and turn them into something that would be Useful, if never Truly Faithful.

And then.

Then there was  _The Lamb_.

The Lamb was the Catalyst. The one who had to Choose. The one who  _was_ the First Seal, who held control of the other Six. Joseph had  _dreamed_  of The Lamb, of Their Heart, and he Knew that The Lamb could be Saved. No matter Their Choice, that fact  _never_  changed. The Lamb Could Be Saved. And God had always pressed upon Joseph the Importance of  _always_  offering Salvation to Those who would Listen. It was more important than any other Soul this far, The Lamb.

And The Lamb had Choices, so many Choices...

Would They Walk Away, and prevent the First Seal from breaking for another few years? Would they try to Take Him, and Break the Seal, then go on to break others through Wrath, to kill his beloved Siblings and Flock? Or would They instead choose to Be Saved once the Seal was Broken? There were so many outcomes, so many Choices ahead of The Lamb, and Joseph Prayed for that Soul every dawn, when the dew was still sweet and the air still chill. He Prayed that they would have the Strength, the Heart, and the Willingness to Listen, so that he may Save Them.

He Prayed like that Every Day, for an entire Year, and then, and then the Day came.

And The Lamb was so much more beautiful under the Light of the Church's Cross. They,  _She_ , took his breath away, and it was not some shallow, paltry reaction to physical aesthetics, was not some farce of Lust come upon him. No, He Saw Her, and He Knew that She was Special.

Black hair cut short around a clean, pale face. Eyes the color of the predawn sky he'd Prayed under for Her so long. Dressed in the Armor of the Self-Righteous, and yet bearing only the quiet humbleness of the Truly Faithful. She had been So Much  _More_  than he had Dreamed, that he had felt Humbled by Her.

He had watched Her reactions carefully, how She had treated his Faithful, even when they grew upset with the Dog and White Horse, and each reaction had given him more and more  _Hope_. He had held his hands out to Her, had warned them all that God was There, had Prayed, silently, that She would Hear his Warning, that the Collapse would be held off, but Knowing that Her Choice was God's Will.

And, when She'd stepped forward after a moment of long consideration, he had Known that She had Understood, but to a degree he had not even  _dared_  to consider.

For who else would Know of the Breaking of Seals than One who had also been Chosen to Hear God's Voice?

She was so  _Young_ , just as he once was, and his Heart had all but Sang with Joy, Knowing that He was not Alone in his Love and Devotion to God. He had bitten his tongue on the long trip from Church to Helicopter, had tasted blood when the Dog had snarled at his Faithful, but his Heart had only warmed further at The Lambs gentleness, at Her Empathy and Kindness and Warmth. And that She was Willing to Follow God without Question, to place Her Trust so Deeply in the Lord's Will...

It had made him want to weep with Joy, to raise his hands to the Sky and Sing his Thanks for the wonderful, gentle Soul God had Placed His Seal into. For, truly, Joseph had despaired the Loss of His Family, even as he had Prepared for It. And now, to Know that those Losses, those Griefs, were getting less and less likely to happen...

He was Selfish, and Unworthy, and Greedy, and he begged forgiveness for these Weaknesses within him, but he could not help his Relief any more than he could stop the Outcome of the First Seal's breaking. He watched as The Lamb stood against the Dog's angry bark, unflinching. He watched how She tried, how She struggled, to Save his Faithful, and he mourned the Grief he saw within Her for each death.  _Lambs are not meant to be Warriors_ , he mourned, closing his eyes and laying his head back.  _They are what Warriors are meant to Protect, alongside Their Shepherds. They are not Meant for bloodshed in anyway but Defense of the Innocent._  Sad, yet Accepting, he had sang his Hymn softly as His Faithful Sacrificed Themselves beneath the Will of God, and Knew that it All end soon.

And then they had returned to the ground, and the world had gone quiet but for the sounds of the newborn flames and shortened breaths of the injured and unconscious.

He was mostly unharmed, nothing more than superficial scrapes and bruises, things that meant nothing in the end. He had slipped from the helicopter to see where they had landed, and found that they were closer to John's territory than his own. He had nodded his head. Perhaps John was Destined to greet Their Little Lamb first, then, to bring Her into their Flock with Her Sins cast off and Atonement bringing forth Her Light. Perhaps not. It was still The Lambs choice. Singing softly, Joseph had made his careful, calm way around to The Lambs side of the machine, pleased to find Her dazed, but only lightly injured, and grasping towards the frightened calls of dear Nancy. Singing softly, so that She Knew he was near and would not be frightened, he slipped back in just in time to catch Her wrist, firmly, the same way he'd gripped John's or Faith's when they reached for something that was not theirs to touch.

...Her eyes were so Expressive. They Hid nothing from him. So, he watched, and Saw the realization of Nancy's True Faith, Saw the brief flash of Hurt and gentle Betrayal, and then,  _then_? He watched Her close those eyes, breathe deeply, and, when She breathed out again and opened those clear, predawn eyes? He Saw the  _Understanding_ , the  _Acceptance_ , and he felt his Love and Pride for The Lamb expand to Consume his Heart.

"No one is coming to Save you," he told Her, unable to  _not_  stroke Her cheek, tender and loving, yet so very carefully. She was not yet his Sister, after all, and he was loathe to make Her Hesitate or Shy from them through Misunderstanding. Still, he couldn't help but brush his forehead against Hers, as he did all his Family, and held his breath with Hope that she didn't grow upset...

But the Little Lamb was far Stronger than even he had given Her credit for, far more willing and gentle.

"God Helps those whom Help Themselves, Joseph," She breathed back, so achingly Knowing and Loving and equally Firm. And he could not help but close his eyes with a faint smile, Heart Singing with Love and Joy yet again, before he nodded faintly, forehead brushing against Her own once more. Then he pulled away and released Her face. It would not do to push too hard too fast, and She was injured and dazed. She may have only accepted his Familial Touch in order to comfort Herself, as Faith had done when she had first fallen into The Bliss, only to later weep for it. He would not forgive himself if he brought such unintended anguish upon another. His Sister had Forgiven him, but it had not left his mind yet.

"Come back to me when you are Ready, Child," he had told Her softly, tenderly, Heart still Overcome with his newly flared Love and Joy. "Come to me, and you will be welcomed into my Family with open arms. Until then, Child," he whispered, voice gentling, softening, as he heard the faint cries of his Faithful Children approaching. His time with the sweet Little Lamb was shortening, Her Journey began soon..."Run. Run, Little Lamb, and stay safe."

And then, he had Left her, Left Her to rejoin his grateful, overjoyed Children. And as he Called for the Reaping, as he witnessed Her Abandonment by the Dog, and then Her Flight, he had spread his hands up to the Sky and Thanked God for bringing The Lamb. He had closed his eyes as he Felt the Love of God in his Heart, like a mighty wave to crash through him and wash away all impurities, a Baptism of Love, and he had returned to his Church, and let his Children Reap.

The next day, he had Prayed in the predawn light as always, had Heard of the Capture of the Dog and Cobra and Hummingbird, but not The Lamb or White Horse. And he Prayed that she was not suffering, was not cold or ill, that Her injuries were not too great for Her to bare...

"Father!" A cry from one of his Faithful had come from the Churches doorway, and Joseph had straightened, turning to see what had so upset his Child. He had blinked, surprised, to find Harvey standing there, Harvey who had been in charge of the Silver Lake Ranger Station, and the small island that it rested on. It was an easy location, from what he'd known, and Harvey had requested somewhere with low risk of being attacked, as his wife was pregnant with their first babe, and Joseph... Well, he was nostalgic at times. And all that rested on the Island had been the frightened old man who lived in one of the few bunkers that had hidden within the County before God had brought him there.

"What has happened, my Child?" He asked, concerned, as Harvey stumbled to him and fell to his knees, dark eyes wide and awed.

"I saw the Lost Lamb, Father," he breathed; Joseph smiled faintly, understanding his Child's awe. "She came with the sun, Father, and brought with her a cloud of smoke that made us all fall to the ground asleep, but it wasn't the Bliss. When we woke, we were all tied up in our boats, and floating close to the shore. Our guns had been taken, as had our flashlights and flares, but we were all alive. And, Father," he breathed, eyes glittering with wonder and hope as he pulled out a piece of paper and, with trembling hand, offered it. "Father, she left me this." Carefully, Joseph took the folded paper, and wondered what further Joy The Lamb could bring him, when his Heart had already taken to the Sky. She had not killed any of His Flock, had simply evicted them from the Island, something that no doubt meant she had been taken in, been protected, by the old man who lived there. He was simply Relieved that she had spent the night Safe and in Shelter.

Taking a slow breath, he unfolded the note, and blinked at the writing. A slow, tender smile curled his lips, and he knew that The Lamb had once again Surprised him.

"Is it... Is it True, Father?" Harvey asked shakily, eyes hopeful and bright, and Joseph set the note down to pull his Child close, pressing their foreheads together, the two of them closing their eyes in silent reverence and love. And, breathing deeply, Joseph Listened to God, and his smile widened.

"It is, Child," he told the man, and pulled him into a hug when Harvey sobbed, folding him into his arms without hesitation as Harvey's joy overwhelmed him.

And, under the predawn light, the note's ink gleamed starkly.

_Congratulations on your Son._


	8. 7

**Angel's Wings**

**.7.**

Angel patted herself on the back for a plan well-executed and for absolutely no deaths or even serious injuries (Although that one Faithful did hit his head pretty hard on the table ledge when the sleeping gas went off...). It had taken a lot of fast talking and hard lines drawn in the sand, but she'd gotten her way in the end. It was the only way she could stomach, only way she'd be able to wake up and look herself in the mirror, when there was no Whisper calling for something else, at least.

The Lord rarely asked her for something else.

" _Kid,"_ Dutch called over the radio he'd given her, along-side the sleeping gas, gas-mask, and extra zip-ties.  _"I ain't gotta single, damn clue how the hell you managed to clear this Island without firin' a single shot, but fuck me if it didn't work out."_ She hummed as she crouched down to check yet another hostage. She'd found four so far, but she'd left them unconscious where she'd found them after gassing the Faithful, just in case they were injured.

"You able to lend medical supplies to these guys if they're hurt, Dutch?" She asked over the radio; there was a few moments of silence, then a grunted affirmative. "Alright, I'll haul them or send them all over to the Boathouse, injuries depending. You can meet me there or just leave the supplies, if you want to stay off-screen."

" _Yeah, yeah, whatever, Kid,"_  he grumbled.  _"See you around, over and out."_  Chuckling a little at the gruff mans attitude, Angel tapped the man on the grounds face firmly, leaving him tied up in case he reacted violently. The man, a brunet with a blue cap and shirt, jerked and flinched, blinking rapidly up at her, face slack with sleepy-eyed confusion.

"Are you injured anywhere?" She asked him clearly, slowly; he groggily shook his head.

"The... Peggies?" He slurred; she hummed, and gently cut his ties with the pocket knife she'd liberated from one of the Faithful.

"Taken care of," she soothed. He nodded slowly, blinking dazedly at her. "You know how to get to the Boathouse?" She asked; he blinked again, and looked around, before slowly nodding once more, head a little floppy on his neck. "Go there, okay? I've got a few other hostages to release."

"Mkay," he slurred, stumbling to his feet. She gently steadied him, and he nodded, before staggering slowly in what she hoped was the right direction. Dutch had learned first hand exactly how bad her sense of direction was, since every time he told her 'go this way' she had started out that way and then found herself on the opposite side of the island. It had taken her until just after dawn to round up all the Faithful, drug them, tie them up, put them in boats, and push the boats towards the nearest shoreline. She'd found every building on the island  _at least_  twice, usually while looking for a different building, and, if Dutch had had any hair left, she knew he would have pulled out great fistfuls of it.

Still, she mused as she tried to make her way back to another hostage, at least she wasn't off the island and wandering. So, as difficult as it was for her to navigate without the Warmth and Whisper leading her, she trusted that They would at least Warn her if she was heading towards danger. And when anyone she crossed paths with was Important, either to her own Path or to Another, such as the Faithful who was going to be a father soon, They also Told her. She hoped his Son was safe, if the End really was coming up soon.

She  _hated_  it when children couldn't be Saved...

Sighing as she reached the wrong building, Angel did a quick run through it to make sure there were no hostages, and left her heavy thoughts outside. She had enough to worry about, after all.

Like figuring out where she left the other Hostages before they got eaten by a bear or something...

**^.^.^.^.^**

It took a few days for the once-Hostages, Dutch, and Angel to get the Island both secure and up-and-running with generator-powered electricity and working radios. A few Faithful Patrols had ventured close, but the armed civilians took exception to them, and, unlike Angel, they didn't hesitate to fire on sight. It saddened Angel, how quickly some people let Wrath overcome them, Wrath and Fear and Revenge.

Mercy was like that, she knew. Quick to Anger, Quick to React, and far,  _far_  too Slow to Forgive, if she ever did. Even now, Angel knew Mercy clung to the Blame she placed on Angel for their last days in the Cellar, their last days with Mother, those Dark End Days, and Angel bore her anger silently, because she knew it was her fault, too. Her sister Loved her, just as Angel Loved her, and so she would bare that Anger, because taking even a small amount of it from her sister eased her of it at the same time, and Angel had only ever wanted the Best for her Sisters...

Still, three days and Angel was more than ready to get off the island, if only because the Warmth was still Thrumming, like a constant, comforting Hum in her Soul, a gentle reminder that Things Needed To Be Done.

And so, with a bag of First Aid supplies, zip-ties, sleeping gas, and her gas-mask, she tugged her new camouflage-hunting jacket on over her red tank-top and black men's dress shirt (it was getting colder, after all), and stepped towards the supply boat that was heading across the lake.

"You'll be in John's Territory," Dutch warned her gruffly, sourly checking and re-checking all of her supplies. "He's a sick fuck, likes cuttin' people up and makin' them 'confess' their 'Sins' and what-not, but really he's just a freak with a knife fetish and no self-control," the older man told her bluntly. "But there's a lot more people willin' to stand up to him then the other two. Faith uses her damn Bliss to drug people outta their damn minds, makin' 'em her pet zombie 'Angels', and Jacob just plan mind-fucks 'em 'til there's nothin' left but a husk of a person. Says he's makin' 'em  _strong_ ," he scoffed, grumbling to himself about what Angel could have sworn was  _back in his day_ and she had to bite her lip to stop from grinning.

"Anyways, you're good to go, Kid," he told her, handing her the camouflaged pack she'd picked. "Added some rations and a couple'a bottles of water, but they won't last too long, so make sure to snatch some from houses if you can, people if ya can't." He then held up his own little radio, shaking it vaguely. "I'll be keepin' an eye out for ya." Touched and bemusedly fond of this silly old man who was trying so hard to seem like a jerk, Angel couldn't help but smile up at him, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, making him scowl harder at her.

"Thank you, Dutch," she told him warmly; he grumbled and turned, waving her off as he stomped back towards his bunker.

"That old crotch-stain is all talk for you, Dep," the boat driver told her, amused, as she climbed in to settle among the empty boxes, tugging the hood of her jacket up absently to cover her hair. "He damn near knocked ol' Smith's teeth outta his skull last time he sassed him 'bout the Prepper Stashes still on the Island. Somethin' about old age and forgetting where he left his dick if it wasn't attached." Angel snorted and shook her head, deciding on staying quiet in order to enjoy the chilly dawn air as the boat carried on. It was only moments later that they came to shore, although there was the distant sound of hoarse barking, barely heard once the engine was turned off, that made driver straighten with a frown.

"That sounds like Boomer," he murmured, worry making his brow furrow. "He's Rae-Rae's dog, damn smart and usually really quiet... Somethin' must be goin' on down at the Pumpkin Farm," he murmured worriedly; Angel peered in the direction the barking sounded from, and the Warmth  _Thrummed_ , it's beat rising hard and settling there, a roaring engine beneath her throat.

Well, it seemed she had her first off-island Mission!

"I'll go check it out," she reassured her unhappy driver; immediately, the relief that made his shoulders sag seemed to overwhelm him, and the smile he gave her was almost awed. It made her shoulders feel sort of tight, to be honest.

"Know we can trust in you, Dep," he told her warmly, earnestly. "You're good people. An' if anythin'  _is_  bad over there, I know you can handle it!" Nodding firmly to himself, he scrambled off the boat and began unpacking the boxes, and Angel slipped onto the shore with a barely restrained wince.

She was all for having Faith, but not in Humans, or, at least, not so  _much_  of it. Humans were Fallible. They fell into Sin or Fear or they simply failed through no mistake of their own. It was one of the reasons that, despite being a Devote Believer, she disliked the Bible and most of the usual forms of Worship for God. They were made and dictated by Humans, there were rules and orders that you  _had_  to do or follow, or you'd  _go to Hell_. It was a ridiculous notion to her, to be honest.

Mother had never had a Bible in the Cellar. Had never chanted the same lines again and again for whatever reason she needed to. Had never declared that she would not eat that day because she was Fasting. No, Mother spoke of God like He was a Tangible Being. Of Heaven like it was a Fact. She never even really spoke of Hell, only that it was where those who knew no Love or Light or Forgiveness, who Wallowed in their Sin and Rejoiced, would go upon death. And she insisted that they spoke to God however they were comfortable in.

"God doesn't care what you're wearing or how lofty your words are, my Angel," she had whispered once when Angel was small. "For God does not See or Hear our Bodies or Words, He Sees our  _Souls_ , and so, those who Repent their Sins but do not  _truly_ mean it are Laid Bare under His Gaze and Known to be Liars." Angel lived by those familiar, whispered statements, the songs softly sang in the dim yellow light, to a little girl who wanted to grow to be as Strong as the woman who sang them.

And, as she carefully crept through the forest towards the frantic barking, the heavy, near-choking  _Thrum_  in her Heart egging her ever onward, Angel breathed deep and slow, and Prayed that she would be able to Help.

That she was  _meant_  to Help.

And so, she walked on towards her Mission, the Lord in her Heart and Mind, and Prayer on her tongue, with her gas-mask in one hand and sleeping gas in the other.

And so, she went.


	9. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOMER!!

**Angel's Wings**

**.8.**

The Pumpkin Farm had been ransacked. It's family massacred. It workers either killed or held hostage. And the dog that had been barking, Boomer, had been caged for transport out of the Region.

Staring down at the tied up Faithful she had caught in her sleeping gas ambush, Angel mourned the senseless loss of life. Boomer had been inconsolable, curled up next to the body of a blond woman who she assumed was his owner, Rae-Rae. She'd released the five living hostages, and the lot of them had been sent off to put out the few fires that had been started, and see what they could salvage. Sighing sadly, Angel crouched down next to Boomer, settling a hand gently on his head as he whined.

"She's with God now, Sweetheart," she murmured to him sadly. "Don't mourn her for long. Live for her." Boomer whined at her, turning to shove his head against her leg briefly, before padding away to follow one of the once-hostages. Sighing again and shaking her head, Angel began to carefully drag the unconscious Faithful into the cage they'd kept Boomer in. It was a fairly large cage, more on size for a Grizzly than a cattle dog, but it was big enough to fit four of the five Faithful comfortably. The fifth, she kept out after closing and locking the cage door. She wanted to ask him some questions.

It took an hour and a cup of cold water splashed on his face, before he woke up. He was groggy and belligerent, and rude, until she crouched down in front of him and cupped his face with her hands, forcing his dazed eyes to lock on her face.

"I am the Lost Lamb," she told him slowly, clearly. "You may call me Lamb, Deputy, or Rook, whichever you're more comfortable with, understand?" Dark eyes going wide, the man nodded slowly, looking weirdly awed in her grip, and Angel offered him a small nod. "Now, why did you attack this Farm?" He blinked rapidly, and frowned, confused.

"They wouldn't sell out," he told her simply. "Brother John has been tryin' ta get'em ta sell out ta him for  _weeks_. When the Father called The Reapin', Brother John told us ta take everythin', leave nothin' behind, and send the mutt up North ta Brother Jacob, 'cause he's a Champion." Angel took a slow breath, pursing her lips.

"Why kill the people, then?" She asked him softly. "Why not steal the pumpkins, the vehicles? Leave the people behind with nothing? Why kill them?" The Faithful just sort of shrugged at her.

"They were jus' Sinners," he told her simply. "They're all jus' gonna die in The Collapse anyways." Angel stilled, staring at him, and took a slow, deep breath before standing.

"I'll be right back," she told him, before stalking away. Her hands were shaking, she idly noticed as she headed for one of the once-hostages, who was straightening up the garage. "Do you have two shovels in here?" She asked him quietly; he blinked, confused, before realization and gratitude filled his expression.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, pointing off to the side, where a few shovels leaned against the wall. "Do you want help?" He asked; she shook her head.

"I've already got some, thank you," she told him quietly, accepting the two shovels he decided would be the best.

"There's a nice stretch over by the crab-apple tree," he told her softly, pointing to the single tree sitting in a nearby patch. "The dirt should still be soft enough to dig in." Angel nodded, and walked slowly back towards the waiting Faithful. Boomer joined her quickly enough, panting softly next to her as she walked. Just before she reached the waiting Faithful, Angel paused, closed her eyes, and just  _breathed_.

 _Forgive them Lord,_  she silently Prayed.  _They have let Hate and Sin cloud their minds. They Believe that they are acting in Righteousness, and have Forgotten that those whom they fight against are their Neighbors, whom they are meant to Love. Please, my Lord, grant me the Strength and Patience to teach even a single one of them Understanding and Empathy._

Taking another slow breath, Angel opened her eyes and walked forward. The Faithful perked up upon seeing her again, confusion briefly over-shadowing his hopeful expression as she sunk the two shovels into the ground and crouched before him.

"I am going to untie you," she informed him softly. "And, once you are untied, you are going to help me dig graves for those who died today." Instantly, he frowned, confused and unhappy.

"But they're Sinners!" He declared; she bit back the sharp word on her tongue, breathing through her nose.

"They were  _human beings_ ," she told him quietly, seriously. "They were  _people_. They were once  _your neighbors_. And you murdered them in Wrath when you had no need. You let Greed and Wrath and Gluttony drown out your Heart, and you will now set this straight. Sinner, Faithful, or in-between, it does not matter." She leaned in close to speak softly, their foreheads almost touching.

"They  _deserve_  a  _proper burial_  because  _they were living, breathing_ ** _people_**. Do you understand?" Looking guiltily chastened and even a little afraid, the Faithful nodded, leaning away from Angel's intent, sharp stare. She held eye-contact for a few more moments, just to make sure it  _really_  sank in, before slowly nodding and pulling out her pocket knife. In a neat movement, she cut the zip-ties around his ankles and wrists, before standing and offering him a hand. Cautiously, he took it, and allowed her to pull him to his feet.

"We'll be burying them by the tree over there," she informed him calmly, gesturing at the tree in question. The Faithful nodded meekly, and followed along Angel, clinging to his shovel uncertainly. "What's your name?" She asked.

"Clyde," he muttered; she nodded, patting Boomer on the side and sending him ahead. The dog trotted ahead obediently, before sitting down next to the tree. Upon reaching the tree, Angel nodded at Clyde.

"We'll start with four graves," she told him calmly. "We'll dig them six feet long, three feet wide, and try to get at least three feet deep, understand, Clyde?" He nodded meekly.

"Yes, Ma'am," he agreed quietly; nodding again, the two of them began to dig.

It took a long while to dig the four graves, several hours, in fact. Boomer had long since fallen asleep, and the other Faithful had long since woken up and started spitting and snarling at the once-hostages who were 'kind' enough to hose them all down with water when the sun rose high and hot. Angel and Clyde were both soaked through with sweat, hands covered in blisters, and sitting, exhausted, beneath the tree as they caught their breath. Leaning her head back against the bark, Angel sighed, long and low, before forcing herself to her feet.

"Come along, Clyde," she ordered tiredly. "It's time to grab the bodies." Grunting, Clyde heaved himself to his feet and shuffled after her, the two of them leaving Boomer to relax in the shade longer. Upon reaching the barn again, they discovered that the once-hostages had gathered all  _six_  bodies, one of them a Faithful, and had mostly-wrapped them in sack-clothe before setting them on a trailer to be pulled by an ATV if wanted.

"We thought we could do this, at least," the man from the garage explained, rubbing a hand through his dirty-blond hair. "Since you're working so hard and all..." Angel nodded slowly, and offered him a warm, grateful smile, reaching forward with one bloody, blistered hand to pat his shoulder.

"Do you know their names?" She asked him; he nodded, grief flashing across his face. "Would you mind making them some crosses, then, while we take four of them to be buried? We'll have to dig two more graves before we get the last ones, however." He nodded again, more firmly this time.

"Leave Rae-Rae and the peggie 'til last," he told her. "The peggie's the heaviest of them, and with Boomer over there..." Angel nodded.

"Louis," Clyde said stiffly; Angel looked at him in question. "His name was Louis." She nodded again, briefly pressing her hand to his shoulder as well.

"What about the others, then," she asked simply, squeezing Clyde's arm. "What were their names, so we'll know who is buried where?" The once-hostage nodded stiffly, pointedly ignoring Clyde.

"That's Billy," he told her, pointing toward the black man, before pointing at each of the others as he named them off. "That's Sarah, and Jonah, and that's Kyle. They were good people," he stated, voice going tight with anger and grief, a fierce glare taking over his features as he bared his teeth at Clyde in a snarl. "They were  _good people_ , you understand that?! Billy, he worked here as well as the apple orchard, to earn some extra money to help pay for his grandma's hospital bills. And Sarah? She was a  _kindergarten teacher_ , she came out to set up pumpkin patch hayrides and field trips for the kiddies. Jonah was kicked out of his parents house 'cause he liked boys, and he practically  _lived_  on this farm, was  _family_  to most of us. And Kyle has two little boys, a seven-year-old and a ten-year-old, and now they've got no Daddy to come home and tell them that everything's gonna be okay and no one's gonna burn them alive in their house just 'cause they're not a part of your  _fucking Cult_." Wrath and Grief were warring on the mans face as he shoved in close to Clyde, who was wide-eyed and uncertain and trying not to step back. "What did we ever do to you sick fucks, huh?!" He shouted, moving to shove the Faithful, which Angel stopped firmly.

"Stop," she told him quietly, seriously. "That's not going to help anyone. It won't bring them back, it won't make the hurt stop, and it won't solve  _anything_. So, stop," she said quietly, softly, reaching forward to set her hand against his chest. Gently, she applied pressure, and he slowly stepped back, looking away from Clyde with wet eyes and a thin mouth. Behind them, the other once-hostages, who had approached upon hearing their friend's raised voice, were stone silent, and the cage full of Faithfuls, who were all in earshot, were also silent. After a moment, the man turned away.

"I'll start makin' crosses," he told her stiffly; she nodded before looking at Clyde from the corner of her eye. The Faithful looked shaken, eyes drifting over the corpses uncertainly. As the once-hostages moved away again, he looked at her, lost.

"But... They're just Sinners... Aren't they?" he asked her; she held his gaze quietly, solemnly.

"They were human beings," she told him again, softly, gently. "They had hopes and dreams, family that loved and will miss them. They had friends and enemies alike. They made mistakes that they regretted, and ones they didn't. And you helped kill them. For nothing that you couldn't have just stolen without bloodshed." She held his eyes, and she finally,  _finally_  saw what she'd hoped to see, what she  _prayed_   _to see_.

Because in those dark eyes, she saw  _Understanding_  of what he'd done,  _Comprehension_  of the consequences of his actions, and  _Regret_   ** _for_** _those actions_.

Silently, she watched as tears formed and slowly slid down his cheeks, his gaze dropping to his bloody, blistered hands, as if he'd never seen them before.

"I... I..." He stuttered; silently, Angel reached forward, and pulled him into a hug, letting him collapse against her shoulder with a choked, lost sob.

"Shh," she told him softly, gently. "God is Forgiving. He Forgives those who truly Repent for their Sins. He will Forgive You, Clyde. You just have to ask."

"I... I will confess to Brother John when we return," he told her, trembling as his damaged hands curled against her. "I  _will_. I will Atone for this, Lamb. I will." Quietly, Angel nodded her head, stroking one painful hand down his back before slowly moving back. Gently, she reached up, and carefully wiped away his tears, ignoring the sting of salt in her wounds.

"Come, Clyde," she told him softly, firmly. "We've got people to bury." Sniffling heavily, wiping a long smear of snot from his face, Clyde nodded, and meekly followed as she moved towards the trailer holding the bodies. Carefully, respectfully, they lifted Louis and Rae-Rae from the pile, and then drove the ATV carefully over to the tree. It was the work of minutes to slip the four bodies into the prepared graves and covered with the soft, dark dirt. The two then began to dig once again.

After an hour, they were joined by the man from the garage and one other, both carrying crosses as well as shovels of their own.

"Thought you could use a bit more help," the newcomer told them simply, quietly, as they settled the crosses down. All six of them, the one for Louis even shaped like the PEG Cross. The sight of it made Clyde's breath catch, and the man from the garage didn't meet his eyes, ignoring him completely.

"Name's Sam," he told Angel stiffly, quietly. "This is Pete." Pete nodded politely, dark skin making the black eye he was sporting difficult to see if it weren't for the swelling.

"Call me Rook," Angel told them calmly. "Junior Deputy."

"We know," Pete told her warmly, smiling as he tugged at the red bandanna tied around his head. "Word's spread from Silver Lake already. We know you're Good People." Smiling back, if a little awkwardly, Angel shrugged her shoulder.

"I'm not a very violent person," she told them simply; Sam snorted.

"As long as your givin' peggies Hell, you could be a damn  _hippie_  and you'd still be welcome here, Deputy," he told her, sending a brief, nasty glare towards Clyde before forcing himself to look away. Clyde kept his eyes down, and the four of them got to work, Sam and Pete working on Rae-Rae's grave, while Angel and Clyde dug the larger, deeper hole for Louis. When she had a chance, she made sure to press their arms together reassuringly, making the Faithful's tense shoulders relax a little.

It still took them another hour and a half, despite the extra help, to finish their grave digging. And then, they set Rae-Rae and Louis down, and quietly covered them up. Boomer whined, long and low, as he curled up on Rae-Rae's grave, while Sam and Pete used their shovels to force the crosses into the ground, making sure they stood sturdy. The rest of the once-Hostages joined them, and the group stood silently around the foot of the graves. Clyde had pulled Louis's personal cross from around his neck before they buried him, and now he knelt to clumsily tie it around his cross, smearing the twine and both crosses with his blood as he did, staining the pale wood. Then, he knelt there, staring at the stark black letters that spelled his fellow PEG members name.

"Louis was from New York," he said softly, quietly. "Had one of those awful Bronx accents, you know? Sounded like a tough guy, and, with his size and that accent, he scared off more people than he called up. And that's what he wanted, most days. He liked to stay by himself, water his tomato plants and feed his pet rabbit." He snorted, wetly, and lifted a hand to cover his eyes. "He had a  _pet fucking rabbit_ , for Father's sake," he choked out, a laugh that was more sob falling from his lips. "He was, he was a shit shot and his Sin had been Pride, 'cause he'd gone on and on about his damn tomatoes bein', bein' the ' _best damn tomatoes this side of the Gate'_!" Clyde's mouth trembled, and tears slid down from beneath his hand, and Angel set a hand on his shoulder, making sure to cast a firm, quelling glance over the once-hostages to prevent them from saying or doing anything. Grief was not something you poked fun at, or insulted, or belittled, and she  _Would Not_  stand for it here and now.

She needn't have worried. Sam was staring at Sarah's grave, eyes dazed, and the others had bowed their heads or looked away. Angel squeezed Clyde's shoulder and let him weep, her own eyes shifting over the crosses sadly.

 _So much senseless death plagues this County, Lord,_  she thought quietly, sadly.  _And much more is going to follow. Please, grant me Strength, so that I may weather the storm and Continue on this Path You have Given me._

Soon, the others walked away, and Angel urged Clyde to his feet. The man was drained, exhausted to the bone, and made no attempt to disagree when she opened the cage and urged him in with his fellow Faithful, who all reached for him with understanding, welcoming, zip-tied hands, folding him into their center.

"Praise be to the Father," one whispered, achingly soft. "Praise be to His Heralds. Praise be to the Lamb. Praise be to God."

"Amen," the others echoed, equally soft, and the hairs on the back of Angel's neck stood on end as she walked around to the front of the truck. Only, Pete was already there, sitting in the drivers seat and chewing on a strip of jerky.

"Don't worry, Deputy," he told her earnestly. "There's a crossroad about two miles down the way I was gonna drop them off at. Peggie patrols go by there every four hours or so, and there's another one comin' up in just a little bit. I'll make sure they get there safe an' sound so they can go back to their 'Brother John'." The way he said the Seed's name was enough to let her know what he thought of the youngest brother, but she was just grateful that he was willing to follow her no-kill methods, at least in this case.

"Thank you, Pete," she told him; he shook his head with a bright smile.

"No, thank  _you_ , Deputy," he told her, turning on the car as he did. "You're givin' Hope back to the people  _of_  Hope, one place at a time. And that's somethin'  _no one_  thought would happen." And, again, he offered her a warm, friendly smile. "It's like I said, Dep. You're Good People." With that, he drove away, and Angel watched the cage of quietly praying Faithful be pulled off and out of the Pumpkin Farm. Something touched her hand, and she glanced down to offer Boomer a small sigh and faint smile.

"Let's head inside, Boomer," she told him softly. "Looks like we'll be bunking here tonight." Boomer huffed softly, and lead the way into one of the smaller homes that was built on the property, meant to house workers during busy months. It wasn't much, but it had a lockable door, windows that were mostly intact, and a spare cot for her to fall onto.

As soon as she finished forcing down a few granola bars and an apple, as well as a bottle of water, Angel cleaned her hands in the sink and bandaged them. Then, curled up on her cot with Boomer on the end, she shut her eyes with a sigh.

 _Please, Lord_ , she Prayed quietly.  _Let me be doing the Right Thing._ And, Listening to the Warmth in her Heart as it began to Croon, Angel fell into an exhausted sleep, and dreamed of nothing but the Warmth and Peace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, BOOMER! ...Although Clyde took more attention.
> 
> And here we also have emphasis on the fact that this is not a Game. This is not actually Far Cry 5, where all the Peggies are Generic and all but faceless because they're not part of the Main Story. Here, they are Real People. They are Actual, Living, Breathing People, and that is why my Deputy is taking what amounts to the Pacifist Route. Because I don't care what you might THINK you'd do in the same situation, but you would not carelessly murder hundreds of people just because you could. There is Self-Defense, Defense of Another, Accidental Death, and Desperation Caused Death, but to calmly shoot or beat someone to death over a BUILDING? That's Murder. And this Fic isn't about deliberate murder of civilians just because they Believe in something You Don't and are doing things you Don't Agree with, no matter how Illegal.


	10. 9

**Angel's Wings**

**.9.**

Angel is eating a breakfast of an apple and a bag of jerky, with Boomer eating his own bowl of canned food, when Dutch calls over the radio to get to a TV. Luckily, there's a small one in the house she'd chosen, and her aching, painful hands struggle to both turn it on and fiddle with the antennae until the screen is clear. For a second, it was just the familiar tune of the PEG church music, but then the back of someone who slowly turned towards the camera. Angel blinked, staring at who Dutch told her was John Seed, the youngest Seed Brother from what she remembered. He looked weirdly familiar, though...

" _We are All Sinners,"_  he spoke quietly, seriously, blue eyes soft and mouth half quirked beneath his black facial hair.  _"Every one of us. You. Me."_  he huffed a little, a wry little noise of amusement.  _"Even the Father Knows, **deeply** , of Sin. It's a  **poison**  that clouds our minds." _The camera zoomed out, to film him walking down the church aisle towards a few of the armed Chosen who were watching him with devote expressions.

" _What if I told you, You could be **Free**  from Sin?"_ John asked, placing a hand on one Chosen's shoulder, companionably, warmly, as they walked together now.  _"What if I told you, that Everything You've ever **Dreamed**  could come True? What if I Told you that Everything could be  **Overcome**  if you Embraced... An  **Idea**."_  The Chosen walked off to the side as a single gesture as the Camera moved around John for the best sight and angles.

" _That, Freedom From Sin, could come from the Power of just **One Word**..."_  and, much like his Brother did at his attempted arrest, John lifted his hands above him, in Supplication and Reverence, and, above him, was a lit up sign that read YES. Immediately, the Faithful began to chant and shout the word in the background, eagerly, happily, and John smiled with warmth, blue eyes gleaming, before he gestured at the cheering, clapping Faithful to quiet. It was here that another Chosen brought forward a restrained, gagged Hudson, still bruised and slightly soot-smudged from the Helicopter crash, and Angel frowned.

It had been four days since then...

" _ **Yes** ,"_ John stated, firmly, acceptingly,  **encouragingly** ,  _"I **am**  a Sinner.  **Yes** , I wish to be  **Unburdened**.  **YES**! I Must be...  **Redeemed**."_  here, he pressed his hand gently, possessively, over Hudson's throat, as if mimicking her own words, unspoken. As she frowned at the screen, Angel still couldn't shake the feeling that he seemed  _very_  familiar, even though she  _absolutely knew_  that she had never crossed paths with John Seed. It was driving her to distraction, disassociating her from the video beyond concern for her friend and vague wonder at the choreography behind the camera placement and line-of-sight changes.

" _If You are Watching this..."_  John said, leaving Hudson to walk forward, hands folded before him as if praying.  _"You have been Selected. You Will be Cleansed. You Will **Confess**  Your Sins... And You  **Will**  be offered... Atonement."_ the chanting began once more in the background as he waved at the screen calmingly, a bright, warm smile curling his lips, blue eyes gleaming almost too-bright.  _"Don't Worry!_ " he soothed as the chanting rose in volume.  _"You don't have to do Anything. We'll come for You."_  The smile seemed to cool, quiet, half-there but... Distant. A mild sort of thing you'd see on politicians or models

" _Welcome,"_  he stated, calmly, simply, as the chanting roared onward,  _"to Eden's Gate."_  And, with that, the video ended.

" _He's such a damn Showhorse,"_  Dutch scoffed over the radio, making Angel hum.

"He looks really familiar for some reason," she told Dutch. "But I swear I've never met him before all of this." There was silence, before Dutch huffed back at her.

" _Lotta people say that, y'know,"_  he told her.  _"'Parently he looks like some hotshot actor or somethin'. I gotta go, Leroy is back with some of the boys, they went huntin' this mornin'. You take care of yourself, Kid."_

"Roger that, Dutch," she replied, before settling the radio on the table in front of her. Boomer whined up at her, cocking his head curiously, and Angel offered him a bemused smile and a soothing stroke of the head.

"An Actor, huh?" she mused, sitting down and reorganizing her pack. She still had several sleeping gas canisters, and enough food rations for another two or so days. If she re-filled her water from the sink and asked Sam and his crew about what food they would be willing to spare, and if she used the map Dutch had slipped into her bag, marked with clear "Allies", "Enemies", and "Unknown" places (as well as several places labeled with what sort of predators and prey animals roamed for hunting) she could make it easily to the nearby Apple Orchard on foot by mid-day, sooner if she got a ride, but she wasn't very willing to put these people at risk. The map said the orchard, and it's Depot, were both Cult Territory now, after all, and she'd be far more likely to slip through than anyone else at the moment, since Joseph Seed wanted her safe and sound for as long as possible.

Putting away her supplies and re-filling her water bottles, she glanced one more time over at the television as John's Video showed back up. As she watched him gesture, his expressions shifting, she finally realized  _which_  actor he reminded her of.

"Huh," she said, blinking. "I wonder if anyone's ever asked him about that... Something for later, at least," she mused to Boomer as she slipped a few cans of his food into her bag. Rae-Rae had been kind, or concerned, enough for him that she had apparently had each of the Worker Houses stocked with a good amount of dog food, just in case of emergency. "Joy would never let me live it down if I  _didn't_ ask." Boomer whined at her, tail wagging, and she shook her head with a chuckle before heading out towards the Main Buildings, pleased to note that the Liberated Workers had been joined by four more people, all of them armed but also willing to help, and another dog, this one a big Rottweiler who greeted the two with a huff and a stubby, wagging tail.

"Mornin', Dep!" Pete greeted from the table he'd set up. It looked like he was selling things, or storing them, from the look of it. There was ammo and some maps, as well as a few First Aid kits.

"Good morning, Pete," she greeted in return, smiling slightly as she absently tugged her gas-mask into a more comfortable position hooked onto her hip, opposite of her radio. "How are you today?" she asked him; he shrugged.

"We're recovering," he replied simply. "Couple'a guys from around came in to lend some extra hands and guns, and eyes... Families have been informed," he added softly, eyes glancing over to the crab-apple tree and its six graves. "Warned any visiting ones to not desecrate the peggies grave, at your request. Told 'em what you said and such. Some're unhappy with him being buried so close to their loved ones, but they respect your requests, since you're Good People an' all. Ol' Billy's dog Velma here," he added, reaching down to pat the Rottweiler's head, making her groan happily, "doesn't have nobody anymore, so I'm takin' her in. She's a big girl, a real sweetheart, and nowhere near as smart as Boomer, but she's got a big, loud bark and big teeth, so any troublemakers'll think twice, at least, with her around."

"That's good to hear," she told him honestly, ignoring the 'Good People' comment. It felt like that saying was going to become her moniker here, and she really wasn't sure how she felt about it at all. "Thank you for asking people to leave Louis's grave be. I understand that what he did, what the Cultists did, was wrong and that they've hurt and done worse to so many people, I really do, but—" Pete lifted a hand, shaking his head with a half-smile.

"Nah, I get it, and they do to," he reassured her kindly. "It's like you said, Dep. He was a human being. Ain't no reason to desecrate his grave for bad life choices. Let dead men rest an' all that." He chuckled and shrugged a bit. "You headin' out, Dep?" He asked her; she nodded easily.

"I figure I'll head over to the Orchard and Depot, next," she told him, pulling out her map and showing it to him. "If I can't liberate them, I could at least gather some supplies or damage theirs, make it a little harder to keep an easy hold on." Pete whistled appreciatively, eyeing it with interest. "The blue dots are Allies," she explained quickly, gesturing. "Or, at least they're Allies as of yesterday. Red dots are Cult Outposts and Enemies last known locations. White dots are Unknown or Neutral or Abandoned areas, places that I could hold up overnight if I need to rest. Since the Orchard is just down the road," she pointed, "I don't have to worry about my frankly horrible sense of direction, since there are labeled hiking and hunting paths, and actual roads leading towards it. It's a short-term plan, but it's what I'm working with today, so," she shrugged, and Pete smiled at her warmly.

"You're a brave lady, Dep," he told her warmly, before pulling out a black sharpie and quickly covering her map in tiny triangles. "These are known Prepper Stashes around this part of the County," he told her. "You can find everything from non-perishable food, ammo, money, to clothes and board games in these. They're just things people have hidden away, sorta like time capsules, for other people to use in a pinch. I found one once filled with nothing but porno mags, lube, and a box of mixed-sized condoms," he told her mirthfully, making her snort. "But each of these Stashes also has a map with the locations of  _other_  Stashes on them, some in other parts of the County. We add known spots to the maps whenever we check them out, to help others wandering. Just make sure to refill it with whatever you can spare, and you'll be golden, Deputy." Nodding her head, Angel rolled the map back up and slipped it back into her bag with a murmur of thanks.

"Now, before you go," he told her, pulling one of the First Aide kits over. "Lemme see those hands of yours, Dep." Angel shrugged and offered them, wincing as the farmhand carefully unwound the bandages and used a bit of water from a bottle to dampen the gauze before risking peeling it off. Instantly, the raw, bloody blister-spots on her palms and fingers hit the air and Angel hissed. "Well, hell," Pete murmured with a grimace. "That looks like it hurts." Angel hummed, wincing as she forced her slightly-stiff fingers to wiggle and flex in the air.

"Nothing in this Life is Worth it without Sacrifice," she told him quietly. "If you don't have to work for something, it's either a trap or a lie. And I don't abide by lies or fakes." Pete hummed as he dug a tube of antibiotic cream out of his kit.

"Amen, Deputy, amen." After her hands had been seen to, and Pete had given her a package of one-a-day antibiotics to take that had once belonged to Billy ("He used to get nasty ingrown toenails, would get infected real quick an' linger, so local Doc used to just prescribe him a bunch of this shit each month an' tell him to be careful to follow instructions. Was cheaper than constantly havin' to go to the Doc for that sort of thing."). Waving at the friendly man, and at those other civilians who saw and waved back, Angel left them behind, Boomer trotting alongside her as she walked down a Hunting Path that Pete told her would be safest to take, clearly marked by river stones along one side and Queen Anne's Lace on the other.

Walking through the Montana Wilderness...

It was  _peaceful._  It wasn't filled with senseless Death or Violence or Hate. There was no unspoken Desperation or Expectation of her presence here. She was just another animal, walking through the trees...

Sighing lowly, happily, as a tension that had begun seeping into her  _bones_  seemed to melt away, Angel focused on the world around her, not for  _danger_ , but simply to admire the beauty around her. The flowers were enjoying the August sunshine as the last of the hot, Summer days struggled to stretch on before the chilly Fall weather began to rise. Already, the nights would threaten frost, and the Wilderness knew it.

She walked like that for hours, absently staying on her decided path as she did. A bee flew lazily past her, and Angel smiled after it, and continued onward, only to almost trip as Boomer came to an abrupt stop in front of her, body tense and a low growl building in his throat. The Warmth in her Heart, which had been so contently Thrumming, rose up into her Throat, it's Tune shifting from happy calm to the familiar song of  _Take Caution/Step Lightly_ , and Angel stilled, crouching next to the dog beside her, one hand on her gas-mask and the other reaching back to pull a gas canister out, caution having her fingers curl on the release.

There was a low shuffling up ahead of her on the trail, and she tensed as Boomer's growl rose into a warning snarl.

Before she could call out, to warn whomever it was off, they stepped out first.

 _They_  being an abnormally large bear, fur unnaturally white with blood smeared around its foaming mouth and down it's chest, a human arm in its jaws as strange, green mist floated around its ears. It snarled, dropping its catch, and rose up on its hind legs to  _scream_  at her and Boomer, more of that mist wafting from the sides of its mouth like a sickly miasma.

And, as it began to charge, as she threw her canister before it and yanked on her mask, already throwing herself back while grabbing Boomer's bandanna, Angel Prayed that whatever had  _mutated_ the bear was susceptible to the gas, because without a gun or long-distance weapon, the only thing she would have otherwise would be Boomer, her knife, and God's Will, and while she fully Trusted in the last, the other two did not fill her with Courage.

"Lord protect us," she breaths as bear met gas cloud—

—And charged through it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And suddenly, Angel realizes that she might need something with a bit more kick to it. Something a bit more than just the bear necessities (Wink wink)
> 
> It's so easy to forget that wild animals are still a threat, when you're so busy looking for human shapes in the night.
> 
> Don't forget to leave a Comment, friends~! :)


	11. 10

**Angel's Wings**

**.10.**

Angel was panting heavily beneath her gas-mask, aching hands clinging to their grips bone-achingly tight. One hand was wrapped around a tree branch, while the other had a tight grip on Boomers scruff, hauling the unconscious dog upward with her and safely out of the rampaging bear's attacks. It turns out that the green miasma, whatever it was, not only protected the bear from her sleeping gas, but sent it into a Berserk-like state. She'd barely managed to throw herself and Boomer out the direction of its charge, landing directly into her own gas cloud and leaving the bear to run head-first into a tree. But it had just shaken the collision off, screamed, and turned around to charge once more, and this time Angel had the dead weight of Boomer to add into the difficulty.

It was only through God's Will and Whisper that she'd even managed to get the two of them up the thick trunk of their current perch, blood seeping through both her hands bandages, as well as down her leg after the bears claws had just barely caught her. If it hadn't been for the jeans she was wearing, they would have cleaved a chunk out of her leg. As it was, she was going to need stitches, at least.

Grimacing in pain, Angel forced herself up onto the next branch, heaving Boomer to lay over it before pulling herself up as the bear screamed and bellowed and swatted up at them, enraged. Sitting on the branch carefully, back to the trunk, she didn't hesitate to take the spare shirt from her bag, tear it to shreds, and tie off her bloody leg tightly. Then she snatched up her radio, hesitating on the frequency, before the Whisper gave her the answer.

"Thank you, my Lord," she murmured softly, obediently twisting the little knob to the Whispered number.

"Hello?" She called into it, trying to ignore the bear which seemed to take exception to her voice, screaming and clawing at the tree trunk furiously. "Is anyone there?" There were several, long moments of radio silence, leaving just Angel's breathing, Boomer's unconscious panting, and the Bear's snarling and screaming, to fill the air.

" _And who might this be?"_  Was the eventual, playful response; Angel blinked as she recognized John Seed's voice.

"This is the Deputy who has managed to get herself tree'd by a very, very angry bear who has, apparently, been given some kind of steroid or something," she responded, voice wry. "And who would very much appreciate someone with a gun coming to shoot said bear and put the poor thing out of its misery, thank you." Again, there was several long moments of silence.

" _Why, Deputy,"_  John Seed crooned in return.  _"Are you asking me to help **Save**  you?"_ Angel blinked at the strange eagerness, before remembering both his little video, Dutch's complaints about him, and the brief summary of him that the older man had held in the bunker. John, The Baptist, who took Confession and granted Atonement in The Father's Name.

With a small hum, Angel considered the bear below her, and the Whisper that urged her to use this frequency.  _God's Will is often part of Unseen Plans_ , she reminded herself as she considered her radio.  _I must Trust in His Will, His Plan, and His Love, and all will turn out as it was Meant To Be_.

Still...

"Do you want to Save Me, John?" she asked simply, curiously, using his same emphasis. "I would think you'd rather capture me for Joseph." This time, there was no pause.

" _I seek to Save all those who are Willing, and those who are Not, Deputy,"_  he replied firmly, sharply.  _"I would Cleanse your Body of its Sins, then take your Confession. But these are things you must be willing to do as well. Are you Willing to be Redeemed, little sister?"_  he asked coaxingly, almost breathlessly.  _"All you have to do is say a single, simple word, and I would take you into the Holy Waters, wash away the filth of your body and leave you Clean and Renewed before the Eyes of God. I would Hear your Confession, carve the Sin from your flesh and leave you New within your Soul, and you would reach Atonement. It would be so Beautiful, Little Lamb,"_  he crooned, achingly tender all of a sudden, the  _need_  churning beneath his tone mixing with eager anxiousness.  _"It would only take a single word, Lamb. Just. One."_ The Warmth within her Heart had grown Louder with every word through the speaker, until she was dizzy with It's Thrumming Song. Her breath was stuttering within her chest, her mouth was dry, and she didn't truly understand, but the Warmth was Encouraging, Singing through her, and she pressed the button to respond.

"I—!" She started, only to scream sharply in pain as the bear managed to reach up, it scythe-like claws cutting into her uninjured leg, which she had unconsciously allowed to hang a bit lower for balance. She nearly dropped the radio as she scrambled for a hold, ripping her leg instinctively upward, feeling the flesh of her calf tear as she yanked, hearing her pant-leg rip as well as she yanked her legs up onto the branch she was on, panting harshly as she trembled.

" _Deputy?! Deputy, where are you?"_ John was demanding over the radio as she gasped, choking down on the pain searing white-hot up her leg. Fingers shaking heavily, she scrambled at the radio that she'd managed to keep only by pinning it between her groin and the branch, one hand reaching over to tug Boomer into a slightly safer position, shuddering as she clung to the dog and curled against the trunk, pain and fear making her face sweaty and clammy beneath her gas-mask.

"I, I'm on a hunting trail near the Apple Orchard," she managed to grit out over the radio. "I could  _really_  use someone with actual firepower to come kill this bear, please. Sleeping gas only makes it madder and deadens its pain receptors, apparently, and it's caught me twice already." There was a full minute of silence, and she used it to cautiously inch her newly injured leg out from under Boomer, nearly unseating herself, to her shuddering panic, before she managed to carefully tie the remains of her first, shredded shirt around it, awkwardly using Boomer as a lap-table as she worked.

" _We're on our way,"_  John told her firmly, sharply.  _"Hold on tight, Deputy. I **Will**  have you Confession, so don't think you can go and die just yet."_Angel snorted weakly, leaning her head back.

"Tell that to the bear, John," she retorted simply. "Lord,  _what_  are you feeding these things? It's leaking some kind of green mist out of its ears and mouth, I've never seen anything like it." There was an immediate sound of realization over the radio.

" _It must have found a Bliss Barrel or something,"_  he told her.  _"The Bliss always reacts strangely to Predator Animals. Hold tight, understand? ETA is about ten minutes."_

"Roger," she replied, settling the radio back onto her belt and readjusting her mask before closing her eyes.

 _Lord,_  she Prayed.  _Please, **please** , let John get to me before this bear figures out how to break this tree. Please give him Swift Winds and Wings to travel with, make his Path Clear of Opposition, and let him have with him Something that can Grant this poor animal Mercy, for it is Suffering and Unknowing of its own Suffering, Lord, and it Hurts to Witness._

She stayed like that, eyes closed and Prayers being Given, as the Bear continued to struggle and Scream and Rage

**^.^.^.^.^**

At first, she didn't understand what she was hearing, having grown quickly used to the bears screaming, huffing, and other rage-filled noises. It was a steady, thudding roar, a continuous pattern that was familiar but...

It's only when the plane is swooping down, John Seed himself leaning out of the door to fearlessly shoot the enraged bear with an AK-47, a Chosen holding onto the straps around his chest with a fierce expression of concentration, that she realizes that the sound was the planes propeller. The plane strafes the bear twice before it finally collapses, riddled with bullets and, finally, released of its manic rage. As soon as it went completely down, the plane turned away, moving down to land in a clearing that was only a few meters away from her tree, and Angel let her head fall back.

"Thank you, Lord," she whispered, achingly relieved; instantly, the Warmth within her Heart rose up and nearly drowned her with Love and Light and Good. It took her a few moments, tears sliding down her cheeks, overwhelmed, before she could re-learn how to  _breathe_ , and, in that time, John Seed was sauntering out of the trees, PEG symbol worn with Pride and Reverence on the back of his black duster, blue eyes gleaming bright with Adrenalin, glee, and concern as he came to a stop at the base of her tree.

"Someone call for a Savior?" He called up, teasingly, and Angel couldn't help but laugh, realizing that the lingering sleeping gas had been dispersed by the plane's movements. Peeling the sweaty, foggy mask off her face, gasping as the seemingly frigid wind played across her clammy skin, Angel shivered before peering down and offering the man a weak grin.

"The Lord does answer our Prayers, John Seed," she laughed wearily. "For a Savior He  _has_  given me today. And much thanks to you for the swift rescue. I must say," she mused tiredly as he began to easily swing himself up the tree towards her, hands and feet moving confidently over the clawed up wood as if he climbed trees in fancy dress shirts, black slacks, and a duster every day, "I wasn't expecting Aerial Support, but, hey, maybe God really  _is_  a fan of Action Films."

"Oh really?" John asked, amused, as he rose up on the closest branch, crouching there so that their eyes could meet, looking amused even as he glanced over her, taking in the damage, pausing slightly on Boomer before ignoring him.

"How else do you explain the epic explosions, gunfights, and dramatic lighting that always seem to happen around here?" She asked, amused, as the Chosen from the plane, as well as another who must have been the pilot, padded out of the bushes. Distantly, another engine sounded like it was coming close and, after a few moments where John shifted his weight so he was standing more secure, a pair of ATV's, each with two more Faithful, pulled up below them.

"Well, interesting topics aside," John told her cheerfully. "Let's get you down and tended to, shall we?" Angel hummed agreeably, Adrenalin well and truly beginning to drain from her.

"I'm not leaving Boomer," she told him simply. "He's a good dog, and he'll wake up naturally in an hour or two. If you don't want to bring him with, and leave him with me, then can one of the Faithful please drop him off at the Pumpkin Farm until I can reclaim him?" John's nose crinkled, but he obligingly picked the dog up by his scruff and lowered him down to be grabbed by a vaguely familiar looking Faithful.

"You know, that dog  _was_  originally supposed to go to my older brother, Jacob," he told her, mildly scolding as he shifted forward, an arm wriggling under her thighs as she carefully levered herself to hold most of her own weight on her arms, bandaged hands screaming, a duller counterpoint to her burning legs. "He was supposed to be either breeding material or training fodder for Jacob's pet wolves. He  _is_  an abnormally smart, well-trained animal, and Jacob's always done best with training animals." Angel hummed lowly as she awkwardly tried to make it easier for him to help her down the tree, hissing as he carefully lowered her into the waiting arms of his Chosen.

"Should have thought of that before not specifying non-lethal means to the Faithful you sent," she retorted simply. "He's mine now, by choice and by spoil. Means I get to say what happens to him." John snorted, amused, as he hopped down and reclaimed her from his Chosen, lifting her into a Princess Hold which, honestly, Angel thought was a little funny. She was five-seven, about average height, but she looked a bit bigger against John's lean body, even though he was about five-ten himself (Joseph was six feet even, and Jacob was six-four from what she remembered from the summaries on them).

"Oh yes, I heard  _all_  about that, no worries," he told her, honestly amused. "Its rare for my men to feel the need to Confess to me, once they've reached Atonement, and to have five of them, all at once? It was practically a treat, and still more came forward once word spread. You've given me quite a bit of extra work to do, Deputy, but it's good work, so I thank you for it." Angel hummed, forcing her eyes open once more as they tried to drag shut. John noticed and chuckled, using a hand to cover her eyes as he carried her towards the waiting plane, the Faithful on the ATV's taking care of both the bear's carcass and of Boomer (She finally remembered that the familiar Faithful had been the one who'd started Praying and Praising in the cage the day before.).

"Rest, Deputy," John crooned to her as he settled her on his lap once inside the plane again. "You'll not be facing the Confessional yet, or even be Cleansed. First, you will be taken care of, healed and nursed back to health, and then we will see, but, for now? You don't need to worry your pretty little head about anything. Big Brother John's got you." Angel wondered if she  _actually_  detected the smug glee in that final sentence, or if it was just her exhausted, pained mind playing tricks on her, but pushed it away and decided to just follow the urging of the Warmth and Give In.

Just as she was dozing off, she remembered what she'd wanted to ask John earlier that day, and figured she might as well do it now. Reaching up, she tapped the hand over her eyes, and John leaned down with a questioning hum, so that she wouldn't need to yell too loudly over the sound of the plane.

"Have a question for you," she told him clearly, voice slightly slurred. "Probably been said before, may be stupid, but if I don't ask my little sister will somehow  _know_  and be disappointed." John's curious sound hummed with interest, encouraging her.

"What is it?" He asked; Angel felt her mouth curl a little bit against her will.

"Anyone ever tell you that you look like Ryan Reynolds?" John stilled for a few long seconds, his hold on her tightening ever-so-slightly.

"All the time, Deputy," he told her, voice stiff and annoyed. " _All the **damn**  time._" And, with that, they fell silent, and Angel slipped into unconsciousness, with the sounds of the plane propeller morphing within her sleep, until it sounded like the beat of a heart and the hum of a lullaby in her dreams.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it can't be Far Cry 5 without at least one Ryan Reynolds comment~! XD
> 
> Did I get John right? He's always seemed a mix of the manic-side of Bi-Polar, a needy little brother desperate for attention, a sadomasochistic asshole, and a PEG Fanatic who genuinely believes that, in the end, what he's doing is Right... Did I portray that right? 
> 
> Also, he would totally be gleeful about not being the "youngest" anymore, and would totes try to boss Faith & the Deputy around if the Dep ever did join the Family XD


	12. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John POV

**Angel's Wings**

**.11.**

_She's an anomaly._  That was John's first thought upon seeing the little Junior Deputy in the church. She wasn't aggressive, or defensive, wasn't keeping a hand perched close to her gun, wasn't eyeing the Faithful like they were attack dogs held back by twine. She'd looked almost delicate, next to the calm, stalwart Sheriff and hyper-aggressive/defensive Marshall. Fine bones, pale skin stark against that ugly canvas tan of her uniform, black gloves and black boots and short black hair to go with it. Dove gray eyes that looked a little stunned, a little doe-like, wide and slightly glazed.

If her pupils had been a little wider, he'd have wondered if she'd come to Their Home with a little liquid or powdered courage in her blood, but no.

No, that wasn't it at all.

It wasn't until she'd finally stepped forward, expression dazed, to cuff Joseph that he and his Siblings realized something  _more_  was going on, something  _Joseph_  was going on. And, suddenly, he began to remember his early childhood memories of his brother, now Father. Memories of those now Too-Intense blue eyes being glazed and distant and always Watching something he couldn't See. Hers were like Joseph's when they were kids, back when God's Voice had been ever-so-slightly Muffled, with only bright bites of Clarity that had brought Joseph to  _life_.

Joseph claimed to only See and Hear God infrequently, that the Voice of God came and went with only major Acts of Significance, but John remembered being five-years-old and watching his brother talking in his sleep of fire and red skies. Jacob didn't believe in The Collapse, not like John did, but he Believed in Joseph out of Love, and that was enough for them all. But John...

John remembered the vivid descriptions Joseph would mutter while unconscious, and they had sent him crawling into Jacob's bed after a nightmare more than once before the brothers had been separated. He'd always Believed in Joseph  _and_  in The Father, and he always would.

So, when the little Deputy, the little anomaly, whispered words about Broken Seals, he'd felt a shiver run down his spine and goosebumps break out on his arms.

And he  _longed_  to hear her Confessions. To listen to her cry out in Pain and Absolution, to hear of her Sins and maybe, just maybe, he would be able to hear more of God's Words through her. Be able to pull from her the same Voice that used to Whisper out of sleeping Joseph late in the night when pain and exhaustion would force the middle Seed into unconsciousness.

Pain and Release of that Pain, the moment of Clarity brought forth by the Power of Acknowledging ones True Self, ones True Faults... The Power of  _Yes_...

He would often tell those in his Confessionals about the Duncans, how they taught him about the Power of Yes, of Acceptance of one's Sins, but, in Truth, it was Joseph who had opened that door, long ago, in that blood stained hellhole of a house where Old Man Seed had liked to beat and bloody them. And, just like when Joseph and Jacob had found him again,  _Saved him again_ , and pulled him back into their circle, it was Joseph who had taught him that  _giving_  that Power to others was  _his Gift_ , his  _Purpose_.

And he would Give that Power to the Junior Deputy, whether she came to him by hook or by crook, he would Give.

He was a very Giving man, these days.

After that night, the Beginning of The Collapse, when Joseph had been safely brought Home, he had noticed his Brothers eyes. People liked to think that Joseph's face was forever set in the rigors of his Faith, that he was held distant due to his Sacred Position in God's Favor, but John and Jacob knew different. They knew that, beneath the stern, still features of The Father lay the writhing sea of Joseph, the one so filled with Empathy and Love that he sometimes couldn't deal with it at all. He was in a state of constant  _Drowning_ , and it meant that he was so much better equipped for Healing and Calling to Lost Souls than any human being John had ever seen.

And those eyes, once so dazed but now so clearly bright, so Intense that he had to hide them from the rest of the world or make them Burn and Drown at once under their gaze, had been glowing.

"The Little Lamb  _Will_  be Saved," he had told them, little Faith snuggling into his arms as soon as they had spread towards them, His Heralds, His  _Family_. "She will be Saved, and She will become Our Family. God has Blessed us," he'd whispered, and that churning, writhing Sea of Empathy beneath The Father's skin had left its host nearly in Tears. Joseph didn't Weep, not even from Joy, but in this moment, it was close, closer to the surface than it had been in years.

And John had wanted to go out,  _immediately_ , and Hunt the now Named Lamb, bring Her safely back to Their Fold before anything could Taint the Vision Joseph had seen, could Turn Her from the Path his Brother had Prayed and  _Begged_  God for for the past Year. At the same time, he had wanted to Hurt Her, Cleanse Her with Blood and Pain and  _Yes_  until her Soul had been  _bleached_   _white as snow_  beneath her skin.

_And everywhere that Joseph went the Lamb was sure to Go..._

He had waited, waited until the next day, skin  _crawling_  with the Want to Hunt Her Down, but he had waited. And then, he had sent out his Teams, his Chosen and Faithful and Converts, to Reap and to Hunt for Her. They had orders, orders to leave her Unharmed, because Pain would be  _HIS_  Gift to her, to Cleanse her, and they had gone forward Obedient to Their Heralds Words, the Words of The Father that were His Own.

And it had taken Days, three long,  _aching_  Days, before word of her within his Region had come to his Table. Word of her  _finally_  leaving that damn Island that Joseph had told him was now off limits, the Lamb's  _Sanctuary_  until it was time for her to Return Home to her Proper Flock.

And then, the Word had Come of the Pumpkin Farm, and the Team of Faithfuls had come to him on bended knee, begging to be Cleansed, with her Lesson on their Tongue and Repentance on their backs.

He hadn't been gentle. He hadn't been Kind. It was not his Calling to be either, for those who fell back into the Temptation of Sin needed to  _Learn_ , to be  _reminded every day_  of the Sacrifice they must Make for True Atonement. He knew that Personally well, his skin bore the Sins of his Life, and the Marks of his Repentance. And now, so would they, skin flayed and black ink like poison, Drowning out the Sins they had  _Begged_  him to Take.

And, once they were released from the Confessional, did they Fall Back into the mindset of before?

No. No they didn't.

Instead, they'd gone out among his Chosen and Faithful, had spread achingly awed Word of the Lamb's Lessons, had brought to John others who had, unknowingly, fallen for the sly Poison of their Sins.

He had never felt such  _Purpose_  within his Confessors before, and it filled him with Joy and Pleasure and Glee, because, if with just a single day she had brought him such Sinful Souls, from out of  _his own Faithful_ , what else could she bring,  _who else_  could she bring to his Confessionals?

So, inspired, he had filmed his video, his  _Introduction_ , and sent it out throughout his Region. The people  _would_  learn of the Power of Yes, and he knew that the Deputy was there, on his land, as if she'd been drawn to him. Maybe it was Gods Plan, His Will, that John got to her first? That's what Joseph would say, would tell him. Joseph would expound on the fact that it was  _John_  who brought the Sinners to the Light, was  _John_  who took Their Confessions and Cleansed them. Not Jacob, not Faith, but little John.

He'd been antsy, eager, fingers all but shaking like they used to when he went too long without a fix. He'd spent hours after the first broadcast, just cleaning and organizing his supplies and Confessional Tools. Making sure all the knives and needles were clean and sterile, that he was stocked on Cauterizing Powder (no need to let those Atoning die of blood loss, it would be pointless). That he had plenty of cream for his tattoos and that the chair was freshly wiped down. He left Deputy Hudson in the opposite chair, the Witness Chair, and kept her there most days, making her watch the warm ups to Confessions before pulling her from the room.

Confessions were meant to be Private. No one liked airing their dirty laundry in front of strangers or friends alike, but John was their  _Baptist_ , their  _Savior_  in this. Their  _Priest_. They always Confessed to him,  _always_ , and they always would.

Humming softly as he carefully reorganized some of the Sins he'd cut away from his Faithful the day before, pondering on where to place them on the walls so that others knew they were not alone in Sin, his radio crackled.

" _Hello?"_  a woman's voice called, breathy and slightly muffled, half-panicked.  _"Is anyone there?"_  John blinked at it, bemused, before movement from Deputy Hudson had his sharp eyes flicking to her. Her bruised eyes were wide, panicked, and she was watching him fearfully, eyes darting from radio to his face again. Slowly, John felt a smile curl his lips, felt his teeth start to bear as something like excitement began to flood his veins, pulsing through out him at her reaction. He slowly lifted the radio to his mouth, eyes glittering as he watched her yank at her bindings and shake her head, cries muffled.

"And who might this be?" He asked, playfully, taunting Deputy Hudson. This was obviously someone she knew, someone she  _cared_  about, and how better to get the stubborn Deputy to  _Confess_  than to witness her friend—

" _This is the Deputy who has managed to get herself tree'd by a very, very angry bear who has, apparently, been given some kind of steroid or something,"_ The unknown Caller responded, her muffled voice wry as John stilled, eyes going wide and gleeful as Hudson shouted at him behind her gag, words unknown and unneeded _. "And who would very much appreciate someone with a gun coming to shoot said bear and put the poor thing out of its misery, thank you."_  John felt his breath stutter, his veins pulse and his groin  _ache_  as he shivered with realization. The Little Lamb was in trouble, and the line she called on was  _his_ , asking  _him_  for aide, for help, for him to—!

"Why, Deputy," he crooned, licking his lips a little. "Are you asking me to help  _Save_ you?" This time, she didn't immediately respond, and the wait, the  _anticipation_ , had John fighting his deepest Sins all together, not wanting to let his Lust or Greed or Wrath  _ruin_  this.

It was not his place to do so, after all. His Purpose was for  _Saving_ , not  _Indulging_ , so he would wait and—

" _Do you want to Save Me, John?"_  her voice finally asked, filled with curiously.  _"I would think you'd rather capture me for Joseph."_  John didn't hesitate, blood pumping and Purpose riding his shoulders and filling his Heart.

"I seek to Save all those who are Willing, and those who are Not, Deputy," he told her sharply. "I would Cleanse your Body of its Sins, then take your Confession. But these are things you must be willing to do as well. Are you Willing to be Redeemed, little sister?" he asked breathlessly, heart pounding, eyes half-closed as he ignored Hudson's struggling, the entirety of his focus on the radio, on the woman behind it.

"All you have to do is say a single, simple word, and I would take you into the Holy Waters, wash away the filth of your body and leave you Clean and Renewed before the Eyes of God. I would Hear your Confession, carve the Sin from your flesh and leave you New within your Soul, and you would reach Atonement. It would be so Beautiful, Little Lamb," he crooned, achingly tender, need and eager anxiousness filling his throat. She needed to understand,  _He_  needed her to understand, he  _Needed_  her to  _say YES_. "It would only take a single word, Lamb. Just. One." His breath caught in his throat, aching in his lungs.  _Say it, say it, say it, SAY IT—_

" _I—"_  she started, but then, then she  _screamed_ , and it yanked John from his mind, wrenched him from the Power of Yes, the  _drug_  of Yes, and he choked on his held breath, nearly throwing the radio as he flinched. Scrambling to grab a hold of it again, he pulled it close.

"Deputy?! Deputy, where are you?" He demanded sharply, harshly, struggling not to let his hands crush the radio as he listened, Prayed, for her reply. Hudson was leaning forward, as if she could get closer without him unlocking the chain holding her chair in place, straining against her bindings with tear-bright eyes. Any other time, he would think she looked rather beautiful like this, desperate and fearful, bruised and teary-eyed, but, not at the moment, not when the Lamb, his little Deputy, had screamed for him in pain and fear that  _he hadn't Gifted to her_.

He would destroy whatever had  _dared_ Gift her the Pain that was Rightfully His to Bestow.

" _I, I'm on a hunting trail near the Apple Orchard,"_  she finally responded, her voice tight and hoarse with pain.  _"I could really use someone with actual firepower to come kill this bear, please. Sleeping gas only makes it madder and deadens its pain receptors, apparently, and it's caught me twice already."_  Bear, bear, of course, she was 'tree'd' still, she'd said so earlier. Father Forgive him in his Eagerness, he'd completely forgotten that she'd called him for  _rescue_.

Abruptly leaving Hudson in the Confessional, locking the door behind him, John went hunting for his Chosen and a few trustworthy Faithful.

He would not let the Lamb fall to a  _bear_  of all things.

He would Save her.

It was his  _Purpose_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An inside look at John Seeds creepy, needy little brain and how, despite being a smarmy little shit, he's still a cute little psychopath.
> 
> Now, onto the Special Note:
> 
> It Is Perfectly Fine To Hate John Seed. Its fine to Hate ALL the Seeds. They're very easy to Hate, and that's the point, In The Game. They're the enemy, they're meant to be assholes, they're meant to be hate-able to make you want to kill them. That's the whole point in the Game. This fic is not like the Game. This fic isn't about Hate, its about Understanding that Humans are Humans. That People do horrible, disgusting things for no reason, or no reason you can agree with, and still being able to acknowledge the fact that they are Human Too. That they have hopes, dreams, and ideas, that they feel emotions, maybe not as well as most people, but they still do.
> 
> Its okay to hate the characters from the game, but in this fic, they aren't just Characters. Or, at least, that's what I'm trying to portray.
> 
> Now, that being said, thank you for reading, and please don't forget to leave a Comment!


	13. 12

**Angel's Wings**

**.12.**

Angel woke slowly, to a steadily pulsing ache in her calves and fatigue-heavy limbs. Also, to a radio playing softly, and someone softly humming next to her. Blinking her eyes slowly, groggily, Angel frowned a little.

" _Keep your Rifle by your side!"_  the Radio and humming person sang softly together, and Angel turned her head to find a young woman dressed like the Chosen, bobbing her head happily as she listened to the song.

"Haven't heard that one yet," Angel croaked, making the woman jump and turn towards her, a bit of pink flushing her cheeks.

"Ah, that's because most of the stations don't play it unless requested, in this Region," she told Angel with a weak chuckle. "It's a favorite up in Brother Jacobs Region, while 'Oh John' is the favorite here. Sister Faith's is 'Help me Faith'. The Father's Region is the only one that plays all of Our songs no matter what."

"Huh," Angel mused, grimacing as she carefully sat up, the Chosen standing and offering her help, pulling her up on the rather soft bed she found herself in.

'How are you feeling, Lamb?" the woman asked; Angel hummed, offering a smile.

"Alright, all things considered," she reassured the Chosen calmly. "My legs ache, but not incredibly bad, and I haven't been eaten by a bear, so I think I'm doing pretty well," she said easily; the Chosen smiled.

"I'm glad," she replied earnestly. "Brother John stitched you up himself. You had several deep cuts on both your legs. He says they'll scar cleanly, though." Angel glanced down, and realized that she'd been changed from her chosen outfit into something closer to what she'd seen the Faithful wearing. A white shirt with their Cross on it in gold, and a pale gold skirt, showing off the bandages on her lower legs, and the scars that were already there and on her arms from the Cellar.

"Well, that's good," she decided, nodding her head. "I was a little worried they would get infected. Bears are known to eat rotting meat too, and I don't know what was on its claws when it caught me, so its a relief to know that infections unlikely." The Chosen bobbed her head, all but beaming, before reaching out to gently, reverently, brush her fingers over the deepest scar on Angels shoulder, eyes gleaming with awe for a moment, before she shook her head and abruptly scrambled towards the nearby door.

"I'll go get Brother John!" She declared, scuttling out the door, giving Angel only a flash of the startled-looking guard on the other side before the door closed again. Bemused, she scooted up a little further on the bed, so she could lean against the headboard comfortably. The radio was still playing, and she was content to listen to the hymns play. The Warmth was Crooning, happily, softly, Singing in her Heart along with the tune, and Angel hummed along as she closed her eyes, tilting her head back so she could Listen to the Warmth.

As she did, the Whisper breathed beneath the sound, like a baby's breath against her ear.

_~Angel...~_

"Lord," She murmured back reverently, body going limp as she Listened eagerly, reverently. But she couldn't Hear what else was Whispered, not Clearly.

_~Th...nex...Sea...wi...be...Br...k...Angel...~_

And then, then there was a familiar Feeling, as the Singing in her Heart soared into a  _Howl_ , and, once more, Angel felt her Soul burdened with an upcoming Choice, something that nearly choked her with its intensity, something that had to do with—

"Good morning, Deputy!" John Seed sang out cheerfully as he burst through the door, making Angel blink sharply, shuddering as her Heart Sang loudly. "Did you sleep well?" She licked her lips, mouth feeling dry as the Whisper faded away.

"I believe so," she managed, dazed, as the Howling slowly dropped back down into the soft, happy Croon of before while she slowly blinked her eyes into focus...

Only to find John Seeds face pressed up close to hers, blue eyes gleaming brightly as he stared into her own.

"What did you See?" He asked her eagerly, breathlessly; Angel blinked twice in surprise for a moment.

"I don't See," she told him simply, softly. Voice falling hushed beneath his gaze and the Song in her Heart. "I Hear the Whispers, but rarely are they Clear. Mostly, I just get... Nudges. Directions, without Explanations. That's how I got your radio frequency." If anything, those blue eyes gleamed brighter, a slow, joyful smile curling his lips as his hands came up to cup her face.

"God sent you to  _Me_ ," he breathed, glee and awe and smug pride whispering from his mouth as he leaned forward, forehead pressing against hers. She felt his fingers trembling slightly against her skin as she blinked quietly at him.

"Yes," she said, honestly, simply. "You're a Part of His Plan, John Seed, and our Paths were Meant to Cross that day, and cross still more often later on this Path, if what I've Felt has lead me to Believe." Johns breath stuttered, his eyes fell closed as he pressed his head harder to hers, crawling up onto the bed to press against her. Angel winced a little as he pressed against her legs, but otherwise allowed it, Heart Song Joyful with the proximity. She steadily ignored the shudders of his body and the hardness pressed against her thigh. She'd seen things like this before, after all, people overwhelmed by their own Paths, by  _knowing_  Their own Paths. That sense of  _Power_  in it, of  _Knowing_ , it affected people differently. Some felt overwhelmed with fear, and others got turned on. It was perfectly natural.

"You won't stay, then?" He asked plaintively after a few more, shuddering moments, voice tight and breathless and edged with a needy whine. Angel gently patted her hands against his back and stroked his ridiculously soft hair (What sort of shampoo did he use, anyways? It smelled like honeysuckles and mint...).

"Not now," she told him, feeling her Heart  _Crow_  with Joy and Light. "I've things to do still. But, I Know that our Paths cross many times, that I have a lot of Work to do in this Region, so I Know that we'll be seeing a lot of one another, no worries."

"And," he gasped, shuddering and jerking against her unconsciously. "And will I take your Confession?! Will, will you  _say Yes?!_ " Angel paused, and tilted her head, letting their foreheads slide until they were temple to temple, listing to him pant against her ear as he struggled not to rub against her.

"Not yet," she murmured, Listening to the Warmth. "But, a few meetings from now,  _yes_."

"Yes," he hissed, whining. "Yes, yes  _yes yes yesyesyes!_ " Shuddering, he went limp, head slumping down to rest against her shoulder as he went boneless with a low, happy whine. Awkwardly bemused, Angel stroked a hand over his slightly sweaty forehead and down his back, petting him soothingly and resolutely ignoring the slightly wet spot growing against her thigh.

She wondered if she'd ever get used to this particular reaction to the Knowledge of Paths. This had happened three times before, after all, twice with men and once with a woman, and each time had left her feeling just as awkward and bemused. Sometimes she wondered if Hearing the Whispers affected her brain chemistry or something, or if it was just her body or the way she was raised as a child that made it difficult for her to get interested in the more carnal aspects of human nature.

Well, it didn't matter, that's not what she was here for or what she felt like contemplating, given the situation. Instead, she focused on John, who was curling against her side with a low, throaty hum of contentment, the side of his face that she could see flushed, eyes half-lidded and hazy, and she carefully laid him down so he was fully horizontal. The man whined and curled further against her, wrapping his arms around her waist and hiding his face in her hip, groin finally sliding off to the side of her leg, and Angel leaned back, head tilting against the headboard as she closed her eyes.

The radio was still playing, she realized after a moment, and she listened to a moment, smiling as she realized that the song playing was 'Oh John'. She didn't know the words, really, but it had one of those chorus that was easy enough to remember

" _Oh John,"_  she sang softly, smiling as he nuzzled in, eyes closing as she stroked his hair.  _"Bold and Brave! He's finding us a Family, he's teaching us the Faith..."_  She sang until he fell asleep, and then she just continued to hum, stroking his head gently as she did.

It was in times like these that she missed her sisters more than anything.

**^.^.^.^.^**

It takes her three days to get John to let her leave. Three days of his pleas and cajoling and eventual threats and agitation before she just pulls him down from his agitated height, shoves their foreheads together, holds his eyes, and  _says nothing_. After a few moments, of calm, steady eye contact, the agitation just seemed to melt from him, leaving him a sulky, pouting mess that had just thrown his hands in the air, and made sure she'd gotten all of her things back as well as a rifle with extra ammo. Then, he'd pointedly refused to talk to her as she changed clothes in her little room, and the entire walk to the front of his ranch house.

Clyde was waiting for her in a pick-up truck, Boomer panting happily in the bed, and Angel grinned as she trotted over to ruffle the dogs fur and accept his kisses on her face.

"Picked him up just for you, Lamb," Clyde told her cheerfully. "Was sulking something awful at the Pumpkin Farm, according to Pete, and I figure this way I could just drop you off at the Apple Orchard so there's no risk of Bliss Bears, not that there are many of those anymore," he admitted. "Lost a good number of Brothers and Sisters around the Orchard, found out that one of the barrels had rolled into a connected cavern that the bears liked, Blissed the whole lot of 'em. Brother John gave orders to clean 'em out so that there'd be no more casualties, so that whole chunk of woods is bear  _and_  Bliss free at the moment."

"That's good to hear," she agreed, kissing Boomer on the nose, before turning back to face John, who had his arms crossed over his chest, scowling slightly while looking away, forearm-tattoos stark beneath rolled up sleeves of his blue dress shirt. Smiling a little, reminded fondly and slightly wistfully of Mercy, Angel padded back over to the youngest Seed, reaching up and cupping his face in her hands.

"I'll be back before you know it, John," she told him soothingly, pulling him down to press their foreheads against one another. It was a Familial gesture, one she'd noticed Joseph doing a lot with his Siblings, and, as expected, the tension in John's shoulders seemed to melt out.

"Next time, I'll Cleanse you," he told her, and, even if his tone was threatening, his eyes were hopeful, and she smiled.

"Yes, John," she told him softly, felt him shudder beneath her hands as his eyes slipped closed. His forehead pressed harder to hers, almost painful, before he pulled back with a huff, straightening up to scowl playfully down at her.

"I'll hold you to that, Little Sister," he told her simply; Angel blinked, suddenly amused.

"I've never been a  _little_  sister before," she mused, smiling at him. "I put myself in your hands, then." Instantly, those blue eyes flared brighter, and his shoulders straightened, as if he was bracing for impact.

"Yes," he murmured, scowl morphing into a slow, almost manic grin. "You're in  _my_  hands. I'll take  _good_  care of you, Little Sister," he breathed, reaching forward to brush his fingertips against her cheek before jerking his head back towards Clyde and the waiting truck. "Go on now, Deputy. You've got things to do, don't you?" Angel smiled and nodded.

"Keep Hudson safe and sound for me," she told him simply. "I might have to steal her, elsewise." John held his hands up, palms out, grin wide and teeth bared, all but bouncing on his feet.

"I won't put a single scratch on her unless she says  _Yes_ , no worries," he promised cheerfully, waving his fingers at her as she turned to get into the truck. "Safe travels, Little Lamb!" He crowed, and she waved out of the window as Clyde started driving away.

On the radio,  _Oh John_  was playing, and Angel couldn't help but smile as the Warmth in her Heart Sang along with it.


	14. 13

**Angel's Wings**

**.13.**

The Apple Orchard was both similar and different to the Pumpkin Farm. Unlike the Farm, there were Faithful and Civilians both there, and no casualties as far as Angel could see, but then it had been almost a week since it had been taken over, if she considered the Beginning of the Reaping as the time it was taken.

Then again, another thing preventing that could be the fact that all but a handful of the Civilians were in what looked like bear cages.

"We're just waiting on another van to take the next group, Lamb," the lead Faithful of the Orchard reassured her earnestly, big blue eyes and long blond hair making the woman look harmless, something the grenade launcher and machine gun she carried belied. "We've been sending them to Brother John, and he decides who goes where after that. If they're willing to Confess, they can come back and work with us, our new Brothers and Sisters beneath the Father's Grace. But, sometimes they have to go and visit Sister Faith or Brother Jacob, and then they stay in those Regions."

"Well," Angel said slowly, eyeing the obviously mutinous expressions of some of the people in the nearest bear cage. "While I'm very,  _very_  glad that there hasn't been any senseless death, I'm not happy with the idea of kidnapping people and forcing them to convert to a Religion they might have legitimate beliefs or personal reasons for  _not_  joining." The lead Faithful, Naomi, frowned, forehead furrowing.

"We're not  _forcing_  them to join, Lamb," she told the Deputy, sounding a little confused. "They're given a choice. And, while it might not seem like much of a choice, there's no reason for them not to decide on their own what they'd like to happen. And, in the end, isn't it so much better that they come to the Project? So that they're Souls are Saved during the Collapse?" Now, she sounded suspicious, blue eyes glittering like glass behind her sweetly innocent face, and Angel realized that, instead of a Faithful, she might just be dealing with a Chosen, one of the Lieutenants, and that was definitely not a barrel of snakes she wanted to stick her hands in.

"While it  _is_  important that they're given Choices," Angel started slowly, carefully, tasting her words while holding those glass-filled eyes. "It is  _equally_  important that they come to the conclusion that they  _want_  to be Saved  _on their own_. Coercion isn't the way of the Lord, because Free Will is His Greatest Gift to Us." Seeing incomprehension, Angel tried to find an analogy that would work. "Tying someone to a chair, and telling them they could either sit quietly or be gagged, isn't the same as convincing them to sit down themselves, you understand? You're not giving them the Choice to come  _to you_ , but forcing them to chose from options that they'd have been more willing to consider if they'd chosen to come themselves... Understand?" Naomi frowned consideringly, and, behind her, one of the Faithful who carried a crossbow shifted anxiously, eyes darting between the two women.

"...You get more flies with honey, right?" the Chosen offered carefully; Angel smiled, relieved, and nodded firmly. "And if you catch no flies?"

"Then you spread the honey elsewhere," Angel replied promptly, spreading her arms out in a calming way. "Or open the windows to let them in."

"Open the windows, huh," Naomi considered, lips pursed, before she turned to eye the two full cages behind them. There were only five Civilians outside the cages, each of them under the heavy supervision of armed Faithful as they worked to organize supplies. "...Marcus," Naomi called; the crossbow wielding Faithful straightened. "Call the convoy van and tell them that, instead of Sinners, they're helping ferry supplies," she ordered; Marcus saluted and trotted away to grab a radio as Naomi turned those blue eyes back to Angel.

"I understand that you are the Lost Lamb," the Chosen told her calmly. "I understand that the Father Himself declared you off-limits, that you are to be Family, Lead back to the Flock of your own Choice. I also understand that the point you are making is both considerate for our wayward Brothers and Sisters trapped in Sins,  _and_  self-serving in the sense that you are not fond of violence and seek to do your best to avoid it. But, Sister," she said, voice gone soft and deceptively sharp, silk-covered-steel, and blue eyes gleaming darkly with threat, "there will come a day, where the only  _choice_  you will have, will be between the life of one person and the life of another, and you will have to bloody your wool in the Name of the Father. Whether its  _your blood_ , or someone elses, though,  _that_  is the question." Angel held those eyes as Naomi stared, and leaned in close herself.

"I have known Sacrifice, Naomi," she said quietly, intensely, feeling the Warmth Rise Up behind her Face, her eyes unnaturally Intense, feeling like her skin could just peel away and expose God's Light. "I have that blood staining my hands already, both mine and others, and do not think, even for a  _second_ , that I will not bring God's Wrath down upon those He deems necessary to Sacrifice. I do not like  _Senseless Violence and Death_ , Naomi. That does  _not_  mean I am incapable of  _doling it out in spades_." The Chosen had long gone pale, blue eyes glassy now in the way shock settles in, not the glass-sharpness of before, and she had taken a step back as Angel stepped forward, face blank and sharp and Wrath building upon her shoulders like a blood-soaked cloak.

"Killing human beings is  _easy_ , Chosen," the Deputy told her quietly, firmly, watching her with Light-Filled eyes and Blood-Stained breaths. "It is much,  _much_  harder to withstand the  _temptation_  of Violence than it is perpetrating it. Do you understand, Naomi?" she asked, reaching forward and gently cupping the other woman's face with her fingertips, feeling the clammy skin and the way the Chosen swallowed heavily.

"Y-yes, Lamb," she murmured weakly, swallowing. "Forgive my impertinence, please." Angel eyed her quietly, Intensely, for a few moments longer, before taking a slow, deliberate step back, closing her eyes, and just  _breathing_. Quickly, carefully, the Mantle of Wrath she had born upon her shoulders fell away, the Warmth sliding down her throat to rest once more within her Heart, to thrum with Contentment within her Being. She let out another slow breath, and opened her eyes, body feeling slightly hollow after the sudden surge of emotion and Sin.

"I have only ever called upon my Wrath in the Defense of my Sisters and under the Will of God, Naomi," she informed the frightened Chosen quietly. "But that does not mean I do not hold it within me at all times. While I am more likely to fall to Sloth, it has never been my most Prominent Sin. But, like I said," she murmured as the PEG Van pulled up and Marcus and the gathered Faithful and Hostages began to fill it with boxes and crates of supplies, "killing people is easy. Granting Mercy is harder." So said, she walked away, padding over to where the PEG van was, and helping them fill the van. Occasionally, one of the Faithful would brush a hand against her shoulder, murmur her title of Lamb, and beam brightly at her when she offered them thanks or a compliment or a simple smile in return.

Soon, the van was stocked, as was the waiting truck, and the Faithful began to leave. Angel blinked, confused, as she watched them pile back into their vehicles and begin driving off. An ATV pulled up next to her as she stood there, watching, and the Deputy blinked again, frowning, at Naomi as she sat on the ATV, face still a little pale and eyes darting a bit between Angel and the cages of hostages.

"We'll leave the Orchard, and the Depot, to you, Lamb," Naomi informed her simply, Marcus climbing onto the back of her ATV, shifting his crossbow so that he could shoot it easily. "Your words are Witnessed and Obeyed, as the Father decreed. You are the Lost Lamb of the Father, the Herald of The Collapse." Looking forward, Naomi's mouth thinned as she watched the Faithful's vehicles disappearing around the bend. "Don't stay lost for too long, Lamb. The Father is Patient and Benevolent, but his Heralds are Not." With that, the Chosen left, following after her Faithful grimly.

"...Huh," Angel mused, staring after them, as Clyde wandered over with Boomer.

"Lamb?" He asked softly, nodding back to the five free Hostages and the two still-full cages. "What do you want to do with them?" Angel blinked, then shrugged.

"Let's get them all out, I guess," she stated. "Then we'll head over to the Depot to see what the fuss is over there."

"Yes, Lamb," Clyde agreed obediently, and Angel led the way to the first cage, the Faithful handing her a set of bolt cutters.

"Traitor," one of the caged men hissed, spitting on Angel. Clyde jerked forward, furious, but Angel stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder, face calm.

"The opinions of strangers about me, don't matter  _to_  me, Clyde," she told him firmly, making him step back, if unhappily so. Angel turned sharp eyes on the angry man who'd spat on her, the wet spot on her neck warm and gross but easily ignored. "I am Junior Deputy Brook," she informed the man coldly, "and if it wasn't for me, you'd be on your way to the Confessional of John Seed. Now, if you're in such a hurry to Confess, you can wait here and I'll happily have Clyde send for another transport van. But, honestly, all I'm here to do is open these cages and let you guys out to do whatever it is you want to do. I didn't just put the Fear of God into the Heart of a Chosen so you could turn right around and undo the Lesson on Morals and Ethics I just taught. So," she stated, eyeing the man. "I am going to cut these locks off, and leave you to yourselves, and you're going to leave me to  _my_ self, and we'll all part ways companionably, understand?" The man sneered and opened his mouth to say something, or spit again, when the man next to him elbowed him sharply.

"Fer Christ's sake, Joe, shut  _up_ ," he hissed at the spitting man. "I don't give a damn who she is, she's got th' keys to this Goddamned bear cage, an' she wants us outta it. So shuddup 'fore she changes 'er mind an' leaves us ta bake!" The others in the cage made agreeing noises, and Angel eyed them all for a moment longer before neatly clipping the lock off. She then left them to open the door themselves, and unlocked the second cage, handing the clippers off to one of the already freed hostages and giving a sharp whistle for Boomer.

As soon as the dog came into view, tail wagging as he bounced around her feet, some of the belligerent hostages seemed to relax and mutter to one another about Rae-Rae's Farm and checking it out. Angel ignored them, padding over to Clyde's truck and climbing in. She was tired, emotionally drained, and her legs were aching. She closed her eyes as Clyde meekly handed her a napkin, gesturing at her neck when she glanced at him.

"Thank you, Clyde," she stated, wiping the spit from her neck before just letting herself slump back in the seat a little as the Faithful climbed into the truck as well after helping Boomer into the back.

"Lord," she murmured as he started the truck, "please grant me the Patience to deal with those who are blinded by their emotions and happenstance, and the Strength to withhold the Wrath within my Heart, so that I may unleash it only upon those You deem Worthy of It, and not on those undeserving. Give me Clarity so that I might better Understand the Plights of my Fellow Man, so that I may better introduce Compassion and Understanding to those who would Listen and Hear Your Voice, and let Love into their Hearts. This I Pray, Amen," she breathed out, sighing lowly and feeling like a weight fell from her shoulders.

"Amen," Clyde agreed softly, reverently, beside her, and Angel opened her eyes to give him a warm smile as they drove on towards the Depot.

And, as they arrived to unlock a further three bear cages of Hostages, and accept a few extra supplies as well as a bottle of Aspirin for her legs, Angel felt her Heart filled with Warmth that was once more Kind and Loving, and Filled her very Being with Purpose.

"Where to next, Lamb?" Clyde asked as they waved at the grateful workers of the Depot, even as another truck, this one coming from the Orchard, pulled up as they were leaving, Angel couldn't help but close her eyes and  _Listen_.

"...Let's head towards Fall's End, Clyde," she murmured, Warmth Thrumming. "We've got Work to do there." And, with an obedient murmur, they drove onward toward their next destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured this was a good chapter to remind people that Angel may be a Pacifist, but Mercy isn't the only one with Wrath issues. Angel just seemed to keep hers tucked away until she needs to Defend someone or God asks her for More.
> 
> Also, not everyone is going to be happy to look the other way when Angel deals with the Faithful. Adding clean water won't always wash away bad blood, or even thin it, after all.


	15. 14

**Angel's Wings**

**.14.**

Angel had Clyde drop the her and Boomer off about a twenty minutes walk from the town, despite the Faithful's protests.

"Clyde," she reminded gently, kindly, "while I really do appreciate all that you've done for me today, and I definitely don't mind the company— _Human_ company," she corrected, as Boomer leaned against her leg happily, "I have to do the next few bits on my own. And, besides, from what I've been able to gather, a lot of the 'Resistance' members are of the mindset that dead Faithful are the only kind of Faithful there should be. So..." Clyde settled, frowning unhappily in the drivers seat.

"I understand, Lamb," he admitted reluctantly. "You have my frequency, if you need anything, though," he reminded anxiously, fiddling with his radio, and Angel nodded with a smile.

"Thank you for caring, friend," she told him warmly. "Take care of yourself, understand." Clyde nodded again, shifting around in the seat again.

"May the Lord and Father Bless you, Lamb," he told her, before driving ahead to make an illegal U-Turn, and then, he drove away. Angel waited until he was completely gone from sight before slipping into the woods. Not far, just enough that  _she_  could see the road but you couldn't see  _her_  from it. Then, she pulled out her radio.

"Hey, Dutch, you there?" She asked; there was a moment of silence before the old veteran responded.

" _Jesus H. Christ, Kid, where the hell have you been?!"_  he demanded gruffly.  _"Word got out that John Seed had you for a couple'a days!"_  Angel blinked, and wondered who, exactly, was keeping people up to terms on her whereabouts.

"He did," she replied easily. "I got a little mauled by a Bliss Bear, and he decided to come to the rescue. Apparently, he wants me to  _choose_  to Confess before he does anything, though, so, once I was healed up, he ordered me up a ride, said he'd be seeing me soon, and sent me back out to the Orchard."

" _Yeah, I heard ol' Joe there bitchin' about Traitors and Peggy-Lovers and such,"_ he snorted derisively.  _"That boy best watch his mouth, he ain't to old to go over **my**  knee. His Daddy an' I were on the same Squad, y'know, and if there's one thing we always argued about it was about how Dalton damn near ruined that boy with his 'Loyalty Above Self' bullshit. That boy's Mama didn't help none, but Dalton had both hands and feet in that shitpile of a brat." _Angel blinked, amused despite herself.

"If you say so, Dutch," she agreed simply, grinning as he grumbled about brats over the radio for a moment. "I'm on the outskirts of Fall's End now. What can you tell me about it?"

" _Kid,"_  he replied immediately.  _"I can tell you that the whole damn town got overrun with peggies within twenty-four hours of your dumbass act in the church. Most of the people are still there, guess John only has a certain number of **rooms**  for his  **guests**. The whole place'll be crawlin' with cultists, so your best bet is ta sneak in and get the people free. Find Pastor Jerome and Mary May Fairgrave and they'll help you set the whole town to straights."_  Dutch went quiet for a moment as Angel ducked behind a tree when a couple of Faithful trucks drove past.

" _Kid,"_  Dutch called, voice serious and grim.  _"If you wanna take back Fall's End, there's gonna be bloodshed. You've drawn your line, hard and heavy, about violence, an' I can respect that an' your beliefs, but this isn't a place you can just knock everybody out or threaten 'em outta town. John Seed wants Fall's End under his complete control. You take it back, you're gonna have to kill some people. If that's not somethin' you think you can do... Leave it be,"_ Dutch told her firmly.  _"It'll be a while, and more people will disappear into John's little Ranch House, but the Resistance is growin' day by day. We'll take the town back eventually."_  Angel stared down at the radio, face soft. The fact that Dutch, despite disagreeing with her preferences here, was still willing to give her an out so she wouldn't have to kill...

"Lord," she whispered softly, warmly, "thank you for bringing this man into my life." The Warmth pulsed with her, and she tilted her head back against the tree, eyes closing as she Listened to it for a moment. It Thrummed and Sang and Crooned within her Heart, and, suddenly, she Knew what she had to do.

"Dutch," she called on the radio, eyes glittering. "You have any Resistance Members close to John's Ranch?" There was silence, the older man probably confused about the abrupt change in topics.

" _...I know some people,"_  he eventually responded.  _"Why?"_  Slowly, Angel's face creased in a grin.

"I've got a plan," she told him.

Then she Told him.

**^.^.^.^.^**

" _You sure this'll work, Deputy?"_  her radio asked, the voice of Nick Rye coming in nervously over the speaker as Angel crouched in a tree on the outskirts of Fall's End, Boomer lying at its base where he'd wait until she whistled for him. Dutch had connected her to the Resistance Members he knew after they'd hashed out the details of her, of God's, Plan, and she smiled, eyeing the full moon to keep an idea of the time in mind.

"Patience, Nick," she coached simply, easily. "Trust me, this'll be like kicking an anthill. Are  _you_  up for your part?" She asked teasingly, the man immediately huffed, insulted.

" _I'll have you know that ain't nobody in this County a better flier then me, Deputy!"_  He declared proudly.  _"Not even John Seed and his stupid ass, fancy ass plane can fly better'n me! 'Specially at night!"_ Angel chuckled.

" _Can we start this turkey shoot yet?!"_ Another voice demanded.  _"'Cause as nice as y'alls awkward flirtin' is an' all, I wanna blow me up some shit!"_

" _Amen t' that, brother!"_  Another chimed, gleeful, and Angel rolled her eyes. If 'Sharky' Boshaw and Hurk Jr. were as colorful in person as they were on the radio, she wasn't sure if the world was prepared to meet them.

"Wait for my signal, boys," she chided gently back, amused. "It won't be long now, I promise."

" _What exactly are we waiting for, anyways?"_ Nick asked; Angel hummed, blinking slowly as the Warmth Sang.

"For that," she stated knowingly, just seconds before a Sharky spoke up.

" _Well, fuck me sideways an' call me Matilda,"_  the man blurted.  _"I dunno how th' hell you'd know this'd happen, Dep, but John Fucking Seed himself just pulled inta th' house I'm watchin'."_  Seconds later, Hurk spoke up.

" _An' the guards at the supply depot I'm at just pulled abou' ten bottles worth'a vodka outta their boxes. Seems they're gonna throw a party without us, y'all!"_

" _Well, damn,"_ Nick Rye breathed.  _"Damn near all the peggies here just climbed into their cars an' are headin' Hurks way. How in the name of the Good Lord did ya figure all this out, Dep?!"_  Angel smiled, watching as a large chunk of the guards at the roads leading into Fall's End all started leaving as well, leaving behind the bare minimum of Faithful behind.

"Maybe God told me," she declared cheerfully. "Maybe I just pay attention. Maybe I just happen to remember some of the Faithful at John's Ranch talking about a celebration for one of the Chosen who was going to get married soon, and how one of them may have held back a stash of liquor since John had to go talk to a couple of Chosen about a special shipment of Bliss." Here, she paused. "Or maybe it's just a happy coincidence."

" _If that's a coincidence,"_  Sharky breathed,  _"I am an Asian supermodel who likes BDSM and getting' three-wayed out'n the mud."_  Angel blinked, bemused.

"...I didn't know you were Asian," she said; Hurk's muffled hooting made her radio crackle as Sharky sputtered. "Anyways, if you boys could start the plan?"

" _On it like sauce on'a steak, Ma'am,"_ Hurk chuckled.  _"What's'a good party without good ol' **B-B-Q**!?"_  He laughed.  _"Hurk, out!"_

" _Sharky out as well,"_  the named man huffed cheerfully enough.  _"Hey, you think if I set all their cars on fire at once, it'll make John's head explode?"_

" _Why don't you try it and see, Shark?"_  Nick cajoled; Sharky hooted and clicked off.  _"I'm headin' in, Dep. See ya later, understand? Stay safe!"_

"You too, Nick," she ordered fondly. "You still have to meet your daughter, after all."

" _I'm havin' a son!"_  he squawked immediately.  _"Don't you go actin' like my wife, now! It's **Ryes & Sons Aviation**!"_ Angel grinned as the Warmth Pulsed in response.

"Guess you'll just have to re-name it, then!" She chuckled. "Deputy, out." Clicking the volume on her radio down to near-silent, Angel slid through the woods, pulling her gas-mask on as she followed the Warmth's urging as she went. By her count and what she'd seen, there were ten Faithful and a single Chosen left behind in Fall's End, and four of said Faithful were on one end of town, another four directly in front f her, while the remaining two and the Chosen were guarding the Hostages. While the likelihood of shooting was still high, she was going to try and do this as painlessly as possible, so, Sleeping Gas first it was.

The four guarding the road went down easily, and she neatly tied them up and gagged them off to the side, safely out of the road, before moving onward. She, personally, would have taken the Chosen and the two Faithful on next, as it was more dangerous sneaking past them to get to the remaining road-block group, but she Obeyed the Warmth as it urged her onward.

Another cloud of sleeping gas, and another few minutes spent tying and moving the unconscious Faithful, and she was finally ready.

The Hostages were being held in the church, probably out of some perverse sense of justice or something, and something told her that just chucking a canister in there and waiting them out was a bad idea. So, with a deep breath, she slipped her mask off and pulled out the handgun one of the Depot Hostages had given her at her request, her rifle on her back. Sliding around the side of the church to peer into one of the few windows, Angel squinted into the dark room, taking in the bound forms on the ground. She counted nineteen altogether, including a young girl about her sister Faith's age, the Pastor, and a blond woman that the Warmth Sang Sadly about.

And then she spotted the Chosen and their two Faithful, and grimaced as she eyed the green miasma swirling around their heads.

 _That is a very good reason to not just toss in a canister,_  she thought, lips thinning. She'd learned a bit more about the Bliss and its effects on people and animals alike. And any human that carried that mist was just like the bear. It dulled the pain receptors and gave them a boost in aggression, strength, and endurance, and sent them into an enraged, Berserk state when other chemicals were introduced.

And, for the most part, they couldn't be brought back out of it ever again.

Turning so her back was against the Church, Angel Prayed for Guidance and Courage to do what needed to be done, and for Mercy for the three drugged men and their Souls. The Warmth Crooned, and Angel swallowed heavily, before letting out one long, steady breath, straightening her shoulders, and calling upon the Strength of her Wrath.

It settled around her like a flickering heat, filled her blood with the urge to fight and move, made her every breath taste like copper as her eyes glittered Intensely.

"I am a Tool for Your Will, Lord," she breathed, heart beating and muscles aching with the need to  _move_. " _Lead me_." And the Warmth  _Roared_  within her, filling her Wrath with  _Purpose_ , and Angel  _moved_. The world in her sight was tinged Red, the color of the Blood her Wrath so hungered for, the Wrath that had once Consumed Mercy and their Father alike, a Wrath that  _Consumed everything in its path_. The world outside the Wrath was Muffled, all of it mattered little outside the Blood-Tinged Cloak of Sin. She was a Vessel of Death for Her Lord, and He Lead Her Faithfully.

Abruptly, she found herself shivering, still and silent as the Wrath melted away beneath the Croon of Warmth in her Heart. She found herself on the steps of the church, and, lying on the ground outside of it, the dead bodies of the three PEG members. The two Faithful had single gunshots to the head, one from the back and another from the side, but the Chosen had three shots to his chest, clustered close to the center, and her shoulder and both legs were burning painfully. When she slowly glanced down, dazed, like she was moving through water, she saw that she had a bullet graze against the outside of her shoulder, and that it looked like she'd split some of her stitches.

Letting out a shaky breath, feeling hollow and empty without her Wrath to fill up the empty spaces in the world where three lives had once been, Angel closed her eyes.

"Thank You, Lord," she murmured, quiet and soft. "Please guide these poor Souls to Their Rightful Place. In Your Holy Name, Amen." Bowing her head, Angel turned and stepped through the open doors of the church, dazedly gliding down the empty path between pews, towards the wide-eyed, relieved Hostages as they struggled to sit up. Pulling out her knife, she quickly and neatly cut ropes and ties, pulled out gags, and murmured reassurances as she moved.

"I may not Know the Lord's Plan," the Pastor, Jerome, told her, dark eyes warm and glittering with understanding as he took one of her faintly trembling hands in his own. "But I know a Good Thing when I see one," he told her seriously, before he pulled her into an affectionate hug. "Thank you." Angel offered a weak smile and a weaker nod, before he radio crackled, and she pulled it up quickly.

" _Deputy?! This is Sharky, lettin' y'all know that project Carson is in affect!"_  She blinked bemusedly.

"What Carson?" she asked, confused.

" _Well, hell, you know, car-arson, Carson! It's called a **code name** , Dep!"_ She shook her head, amusement and relief slowly refilling the Void her Sin had left within her.

"Glad you're okay, Sharky," she told him warmly. "Everyone, be aware, Fall's End is once more Free Land."

" _Hell yeah!"_ Hurk bellowed back with a bright laugh.  _"News on this end, the peggies are too damn busy tryin' ta figure out how their silo blew up then to figure out I popped all their tires! Also, I may have grabbed me a bottle of JD they had, too, but, y'know, waste not an' all that!"_

"Good job, Hurk," she called out warmly, grinning brightly as Pastor Jerome and the blond woman called Mary May moved closer, eyes glittering.

" _This is Nick Rye,"_  hooted next, voice filled with glee  _"And I'd like to report that John Seed's gonna need ta buy himself a new fancy ass plane, 'cause his is fucked to all get out!"_  Sharp laughter and some more hooting, barely heard over what she recognized as the propeller of a plane.  _"Hot **damn**  but that's what that son of a bitch lawyer gets for stealin' my Carmine!"_ As soon as the rest of the Hostages heard it, loud cheering began to erupt in the church, and Angel grinned, nodding to people who slapped her on the good shoulder as they celebrated.

"Bring it on home, Boys," she called into the radio. "Stay safe and travel fast, okay?"

" _Roger that, Dep!"_  they all exclaimed, before signing out. And, as she was swept into the celebration of the townspeople, Angel couldn't help but smile, feeling relieved and accomplished at once as the young girl she'd noted in the group—"Call me Connie!"—darted away from her parents to throw her arms around her waist and began to chatter excitedly. As soon as she stepped from the church, her smile wilted as her eyes once more landed on the dead cultists lying there on the ground, ignoring the way several of the once-hostages spat on them as they left,. And her heart  _ached_.

And, as she bowed her head sadly, stroking little Connie's hair as the girl hid her face away from the sight and trying to ignore the steadily raising pain of her shoulder and leg wounds, the Whisper Called out to her softly.

_~The Second Seal has been Broken.~_

 


	16. 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to Clarify for a confused Anon: John is Not Dead. There are Seven Seals that must be broken to make The Collapse Happen. Arresting Joseph broke the First Seal. John, Jacob, and Faith's Deaths, In The Game, each broke One Seal. Beating Joseph after the Resist Ending breaks the Seventh and Final Seal. I have a list set aside of What the Seven Seals are, and how to Break them, which fits both in this Universe with Angel, and in the Game Universe with Wrath.
> 
> So, no worries, John isn't dead, and things are going to be happening, so, yeah, no worries!

 

**Angel's Wings**

**.15.**

The people of Fall's End had been celebrating their renewed freedom for a few hours after their release. Angel hadn't stayed still long enough to join them, too nauseous and too jittery to do so. Instead, she allowed the local veterinarian (the closest thing to a doctor the small town still had at this point) to stitch up her injuries, before she had grabbed Pastor Jerome and a pickup truck, and had him help her pile all the still unconscious Faithful into the back before driving a mile down the road, dropping them off, and calling Clyde to come retrieve them.

"I cannot say that I disagree with your preference towards mercy and empathy, Deputy," the Pastor told her calmly, sharp eyes watching Clyde drive away with the eight Faithful packed like sardines into the back of his truck, "but I cannot fully agree with it, either." Angel hummed quietly in understanding, even as she drove them back into town and stopped at the church. She still had to pack up the three dead cultists and take them out to be buried, after all.

She would not be sleeping this night

"My Mother used to tell me," she said softly as the two of them lifted the dead into the truck carefully, "when I was a child, that God does not See Us as We See one another. He does not See our Clothes, does not Hear our Words. Instead, He See's our very Souls, and Knows our most Intimate Selves. He Knows and Sees the Sins we have Committed in our Lives, and Knows when we have Truly Repented them. And those who Dare try to Lie are laid Bare before Him..." Angel turned to meet the Pastor's eyes with a solemn, firm stare. "I am a Sinner, Jerome. I have Sinned and will Sin again, and I Bare my Sins with the knowledge that I Commit them for a  _Reason_. That they have a  _Purpose_. I am no criminal, no junkie or thrill-seeker out to find that new, interesting high. I am a Defender, a Protector, a  _Warrior_. I don't like to kill, I don't like to bring Violence against my Fellow Man, but I will gladly do so in defense of those who cannot defend themselves. I will shed blood, my own and others, in the Defense of my Sisters and of Children especially, and in God's Name and with His Will I will raise my sword, or I will  _drop it_. This is true, every bit." Holding his gaze, her own Intense as the Warmth coiled beneath her skin, Angel let out a slow breath.

"These were people, too," she told him softly, simply. "And I will treat them with the respect that all people deserve upon death. Whatever their mistakes or choices in life, it is not up to  _us_ to judge them now. They are beyond our Judgment, and within His."

"...Amen, Deputy," the man finally chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "Amen... Let me get you a shovel," he told her firmly. "I'd come and help you myself, but," he sighed, grimacing as he leaned back and looked up at the moon. "It's Sunday morning tomorrow, and I've got a Sermon to prepare before bed.. And, frankly," he grumbled good-naturedly, "I'm getting too damn old to be running around in the backwoods in the middle of the night." Angel felt her shoulders relax at that, and waited patiently for him to return with the shovel, setting it in the back of the truck with the bodies. The older man hesitated, before setting his hand on her good shoulder for a gentle squeeze.

"You are a good person, Deputy," he told her quietly. "Just be careful about it. In this world, there aren't very many good people anymore, and Evil is always attracted to them." Angel met his eyes and nodded. "Good night, Deputy."

"Good night, Jerome," she replied, and the two parted ways.

**^.^.^.^.^**

"Deputy?" Connie's young voice asked sleepily, startling Angel from where she was using the shovel to measure exactly how deep the third grave was. Angel looked up, blinking as she realized that it was nearly dawn.

"What are you doing way out here by yourself, sweetheart?" Angel asked her, climbing out of the grave carefully so she wouldn't pull any of her stitches. The young girl shrugged, blue eyes confused as she pushed her blond hair behind her ear. She was wearing a pair of jeans, a white tank top, and a too-large red plaid shit left unbuttoned over the whole thing, and looked like she, also, hadn't slept at all. The girl shrugged a bit, and Boomer, who had eventually joined Angel if only to curl up and sleep in the cab of the truck, woofed softly at her, getting a faint half-smile back.

"Couldn't sleep," Connie admitted, carefully picking her way through the low brush to stop next to the pile of dirt next to the empty graves. "Tried to find you in town, to just sort of talk to you and such, but no one knew where you'd bedded down. Father Jerome said that I might find you over this way, but I thought it would be in, like, a tent or somethin'..." The teenager eyed the graves uncertainly, brow furrowed. "Are... Are these for the, um, the peggies?" Angel hummed, gently setting the shovel down to lean against the truck.

"It is," Angel said simply, calmly, moving to the back of the truck and dropping the tailgate carefully; Connie trailed over, shifting her weight from foot to foot uncertainly.

"But, why?" She asked, confused. "My parents both say it's just good riddance to bad rubbish, so why bother bury them? They both thought you'd just dumped 'em in a ditch for the animals to eat. Said it was a damn sight better'n they'd do for us..." Angel paused where she was, half-climbed into the back of the truck, and turned to give the girl her full attention, leaning slightly over the side so she could meet her eyes with her own.

"Just because someone does something bad," she told the young girl softly, gently, "doesn't mean you should respond in kind. These men did bad things, to your town, to your family and friends, to  _you_. It'd be easy to hate and fear them because of it, to want them to suffer and be afraid because that's what they made  _you_  feel. Right?" Connie nodded carefully, shifting her weight some more and shoving her hands into her pockets, looking away, staring at the graves. Angel eyed her, Warmth Thrumming and missing her Sisters.

"When I was a little girl," she said softly, wistfully, "my Mother would tell me stories, about Love and Light and Forgiveness, and how, no matter what happens to you, as long as you hold those things close to your heart, as long as you're willing and able to use Compassion and Empathy, no Darkness or Evil can truly beat you, no matter how mean or scary or painful..." Angel sighed lowly, shaking her head.

"I'm not always a nice person," she told the teenager simply, as she rose once more to her feet, "but that doesn't mean I don't do my absolute best." Piece said, Angel began to carefully move the bodies, searching their pockets as she went.

"What're you doin'?" Connie asked, peeking over the edge of the truck, only to grimace and go a little pale.

"Checking them for ID," Angel replied simply. "I don't want to bury them without knowing their names. It doesn't feel right."

"Oh," the teenager said, soft and still slightly confused-sounding, and Angel felt her mouth twitch up a little despite the grim work, as she pulled the two wallets and one set of dog tags from the bodies, wincing at the silver metal as she gingerly set them aside.

"Would you like to help me bury them?" She asked the teenager as she carefully added their PEG crosses to the small pile; Connie hesitated.

"What would I have to do?" she asked cautiously; Angel hummed.

"Just help me pull them from the bed, and put them in the graves is all," she told the girl gently. "I can do it myself if you'd rather not." Angel looked over at her as the girl hesitated. "I'd handle the top halves," she added, gently. She didn't want the girl handling the bloody parts of the three dead cultists, anyways. Angel had pulled on some heavy-duty work gloves that had been in a toolbox in the back of the truck, after all, to both protect her hands and to keep them as clean as possible. Blood born diseases were still a threat, after all, and she had no idea of the Bliss could be transferred via blood post-  _or_  pre-mortum...

"Okay," Connie decided, straightening her shoulders. Angel smiled and carefully helped pull the first body from the truck, the two of them heaving the Faithful into the grave. They did the Chosen next, and, finally, the final Faithful. Once they were in the holes, Angel quickly began to refill the graves as Connie used a bottle of water to rinse off her hands at Angel's request.

"Are you gonna say anything for them?" Connie asked her as she finally patted the dirt smooth. Angel paused, considering, before setting the shovel aside and walking off a little ways. She returned quickly with three large stones, each about the size of a football.

"Why don't you think of something to say to them, sweetheart," she suggested simply as she set the rocks down on the tailgate and pulled a heavy-duty sharpie from her back pocket. "The words said at funerals are for the Living, after all. God has already taken care of the Souls of the Departed." Connie stared at the graves, nibbling her lip, as Angel carefully wrote the dead cultists names on each stone, and set them down at the head of each grave like a tombstone. The teenager eyed the stones for a moment, before once again straightening her shoulders.

"I'll be right back," she declared, darting off into the trees as Angel carefully laid each of the men's crosses out over their specific graves. Boomer barked happily after the girl, but stayed where he was in the drivers seat, as Angel carefully tucked the wallets and dog tags into a small box and slipped it into the toolbox. She'd sent them to John later that day, or maybe send them off with Clyde. Clyde was well on his way to being a Chosen, from what she'd seen, after all, and he was a good man. Could be lead astray by his Emotions and Beliefs, but still a good man at heart.

"Back!" Connie declared, leaping back out of the forest. In her hands was a large handful of wildflowers, and, as Angel watched, the teenager quickly separated the bundle into three parts, kneeling down to set them on each grave. She paused there, kneeling in the dirt, staring at the PEG cross on the ground in front of her. She reached forward and touched it, before lifting here eyes and reading the names.

"Mitchel Franks, Duke Phillips, and Luis Rivera," the teenager read, voice soft and thoughtful. "...I don't know anything about the three of you. I don't know why you came here, why you were in the cult, or what you really Believed in. I only know that you three were in charge of watching us when you helped take us hostage. I know you helped kill and kidnap people I know, people I might never see again now..." Connie took a deep breath, sitting up straight, hands int tight fists on her knees.

"I don't know  _why_  you did what you did," she said firmly. "I don't know if you  _wanted_  to do it or if you were just following orders or what. But, but the Deputy here, she says that just because you did bad things, doesn't mean I should do bad things in response, and, and you're all  _dead_. And, sure, maybe if you were alive I'd still be angry and scared and stuff, but, but you're  _not_  so there's not really a  _point_ , is there?" Connie huffed, and pushed herself to her feet, glaring at the graves for a moment before doing one more long, careful breath, releasing it and, with it, her frown and tension.

"I Forgive You," she said, firmly, sincerely, with a single nod. "And I hope... I hope you got into the Heaven you wanted," she added, confidence melting away as she shifted. "I don't know what, exactly, you guys, you peggies, um,  _Believe_  in, but I hope you got there now..." After a second, she glanced over her shoulder at Angel. "Is, is that bad?" She asked the Deputy. "That I don't know what kind of place they'd want to go to after they died?"

"No," Angel replied immediately. "Not knowing something about someone elses Religion isn't bad, not unless you decide that what little you know is all of it, or you try and use what little you know against them or to hurt them. Wishing that their Souls reach what they consider to be their Perfect Heaven isn't wrong at all, either." Angel closed the tailgate, and stepped over to the girl, peeling off her gloves so she could set one, thankfully clean, hand on the girl's shoulder. "Like I said, sweetheart, they're with God now. Your words are for  _you._  Do you feel better?" Connie considered that, staring down at the graves as the two of them stood side-by-side in silence for a few moments.

"I think so," she decided quietly. "I don't feel scared anymore, at least. Not right now." Angel squeezed her shoulder gently.

"Then that's what matters," she stated simply, before nodding towards the truck. "Hop in, sweetheart. I'll give you a lift home before I find myself a place to stay." She grimaced a little, eyeing her dirt-and-blood stained clothes. "I need a shower and some clean clothes. Preferably soon." Connie giggled a little, tension finally dropping from her shoulders.

"Okay, Deputy," she agreed, turning to pad to the other side of the truck.

"Call me Rook, kiddo," the Deputy suggested, smiling faintly. Connie made an agreeing sound, and grinned as Boomer playfully flopped down into her lap for cuddles as soon as she was buckled in. "And that's Boomer," Angel added, reaching over to ruffle the dogs fur as she settled into the drivers seat. "He's my partner now."

Angel pulled away from the graves as Connie cuddled Boomer, turning the radio down low as  _Oh John_  played softly. The field she'd chosen to bury them in the center of had caught her eye thanks to it being both nothing but open grass, and un-fenced. Fall's End was just over the hill and down the road, still in sight. Her borrowed truck had been in plain view, parked on the edge of the clump of trees she'd chosen as a burial sight, which explained how Connie had eventually found her.

Humming along with the radio, Angel carefully pulled back onto the road, and made her steady way back to the town.

And, if Connie hummed softly along with her, she made a point not to mention it to the girl.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, John's Not Dead. Bit of a spoiler: John's important to the Third Seal, so no worries about him suddenly dying or anything.
> 
> Don't forget to Comment, guys!


	17. 16

**Angel's Wings**

**.16.**

Angel wakes abruptly to the sound of her radio chattering to life. She stares uncomprehendingly up at the ceiling of the small house she's claimed as her own for several minutes before realizing that it was just John making "subtle" threats about thievery and Confessing and how he's going to get her back. Grumbling, she flopped over on her side, ignoring how the cot she'd set up squeaked as a result, and grabbed the radio to change the station.

"— _you Will Confess—!"_

"— _ll find the Lost Lamb and return them Safely to the Flock of the Lord,"_  Joseph's voice declared soothingly; Angel groaned softly. While she was happy that the Prophet was still keeping her on the No Kill list, she was honestly very tired and had a headache, and she knew that Listening wouldn't help. She tried to find a quiet frequency, flicking through the numbers gently, but if it wasn't Cultists or Seeds making declarations or holding Sermons, it was Resistance members calling for fights or Civilians calling for aid. Eventually, she just turned the radio off and laid back down.

Maybe it was selfish, her Sloth coming into play, but she was tired, her body and wounds ached, her head ached, and she wanted to rest. So, she would sleep some more, then she would help the towns people some more, maybe spend a few days hunting around the area. With the breaking of the Second Seal, she felt like she had some time before she had to go and do more of the Lord's work, so she would use this time to relax, gain some knowledge about the area, and test the waters, so to speak.

She fell back asleep easily enough, Boomer rolling over onto her feet from where he had been sprawled at the end of the cot, and the two of them slipped into dreamland.

**^.^.^.^.^**

Angel's little 'vacation' lasted all of two days before she was asked to do something outside of the town. In those days, she helped clean up vandalized homes, helped people gather their supplies and set up a perimeter, and also found quite the little collection of PEG crosses and bibles. Funnily enough, several were inside the houses of "Kidnapped" townsfolk, hidden under beds and in drawers. She wondered how many "victims" had just needed help getting out of town without getting attacked or ostracized by their former neighbors.

Still, two days of work almost exclusively within the towns borders, and Mary May asked a favor of her.

"There's a radio tower about half a days hike up the trail," the blond barkeep told her simply, easily, as she cleaned a glass. "It's strong enough to reach most of th' County, from here through the Henbane an' up t' the Whitetails. Could be damned useful in keepin' track of allies an' enemies alike, y'know. And the damn peggies have got it all locked up an' under watch. You get control of that tower, an' we'll have easy communication to our allies. Righ' now?" She snorted, jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards the old model radio she had behind the bar. "Righ' now, we're lucky to get any chatter from  _this_  Region, an' the only ones outside it that can reach us here are Dutch and Joseph Seed. An' ain't anybody here that want's t' hear from the 'Father'." She huffed to the side sharply, as if she had just barely restrained from spitting on her own floor.

"Anyways," Mary May continued firmly, setting a glass of ice tea in front of Angel as the Deputy perched on the bar stool. "You get control of that tower, turn on the wide-range frequency up at th' top, an' a couple'a our guys are willin' to guard and control it so that the peggies don't take it back. Deal?" Angel blinked, sipping her tea, before shrugging.

"Sure," she agreed easily. "But I'll need a guide, preferably one that's willing to follow orders and stay out of sight. One that won't shoot first, ask questions later," she added wryly as Mary May opened her mouth. Immediately, the blond closed it again with pursed lips. Everyone in town, no matter how grateful they were towards her, had heard of her 'peggy loving' ways. A good chunk of them—mostly the men, but some women too—thought it was because she was too soft, a 'woman in a mans world'. Others thought she was just too naive, that she thought she could 'save everyone' or something. Thus far, Angel had only met two of the townspeople who both understood and accepted her preference of non-killing. Pastor Jerome and little Connie, however, weren't about to get themselves lynched by disagreeing with the majority of Fall's End, more so Jerome than Connie.

After all, Connie was fourteen, she could "grow out of it" and so was excusable. Jerome, despite having been the Pastor of Fall's End for over a decade, and a born-and-raised man of Montana, was also a black man, and, despite the change in times and views, that was still seen as something  _less_. Oh, most of the town didn't dislike him  _just because_  he was black, of course not, but there were more than enough who made offhand remarks  _about it_  within Angel's hearing over the last two days, if never in the Pastors or Mary May's. Connie's parents were two such people, she'd learned, but then, they were also two of the most outspoken about how she needed to just ' _put a bullet in every peggy and let God sort them out_ ', if not in so many words.

Lovely people, the Richardsons. Very...  _Traditional_. Derek Richardson was a mechanic, his wife, Monica, was a stay-at-home housewife. Connie was their baby girl who was just going 'through a phase" of tomboy-ism. One that, according to Monica, she would grow out of as soon as she found a nice boy that caught her eye and made her want to settle down.

Angel didn't really approve, of course, but they were happy as they were and as long as violence wasn't involved, she could and  _would_  do nothing more than be a welcome presence with an open mind and ear and a shoulder to lean on for the teenager.

"Not many here that would be willin' to do that," Mary May finally responded reluctantly. "Plenty would be willin' t' follow you inta a fight, Dep, but t' hold back an'  _not_  shoot th' sonuvabitches that've been givin' us nothin' but hell for years now? After their  _Reaping_? Don't know any that would do that..." Angel hummed easily, sipping more of her drink with a small smile.

"I don't need someone who would necessarily  _have_  to fight," she told the barkeep easily. "Just someone who knows the surrounding area, and is capable of protecting themselves from the wildlife if need be. Someone who could guide me from the treeline if they had to. You know my sense of direction is pathetic," she added wryly; the blond grinned.

" _Everyone_  knows you'd get lost in a paper bag, Deputy," she teased; Angel shrugged with a grin. What could she say, when Fall's End was big enough to house around a hundred or so people, but only held thirty now? She'd found more empty houses then not the last two days (hence the number of PEG bibles and paraphernalia she'd somehow collected at her own 'house'), and more than one amused Resistance Member had had to point her in the right direction.

Multiple times.

Thankfully, The Spread Eagle Bar was one of the few places in the center of town, besides the church, that she could find easily enough. It did, after all, have a large, neon sign out front naming it...

"I'll go find myself a partner for this mission," Angel informed Mary May after she finally finished her tea. "I was planing on asking around to get an idea of the hunting spots, anyways, so it's sort of like two birds with one stone. See you later, Mary May," she called, waving at the barkeep as the blond was pouring another shot of whiskey into an old man's glass, getting a distracted wave in return.

Wandering around the town slowly, Angel couldn't help but wonder at the resilience of the people here. They'd lost family and friends, and almost their own lives, and, despite the hate, prejudice, and anger that clouded their minds and hearts at times, they were still content, even happy, here. They worked together to help one another, those that wanted help, at least. Jerome was happy to open his church doors for Sanctuary, letting traveling Civilians and Resistance Members rest there either for a night or to heal injuries. Several shop keepers were willing to trade goods for items instead of cash, and there was a set order to things now that, while it seemed chaotic, wasn't so.  _Lord_ , Angel thought as she waved at a couple of men who were helping a widow rebuild her fence,  _You Created we Humans to Adapt and Evolve, and We have done so, but it still amazes me every day the lengths that ability goes to at times. Thank You for all that You have Blessed Us with._

"Hello, Deputy!" A familiar voice greeted, and Angel realized that her idle wandering had led her to the Richardsons' Work Shop, where Derek was fixing up a truck for a visiting Resistance Member. Monica Richardson was the one who'd greeted her, dressed in her dark blue dress and white apron, smiling politely as she fiddled with her pinned back blond hair, a pitcher of lemonade in her free hand. She'd apparently just finished refilling their guests drink when Angel had wandered over.

"Hello, Monica," Angel greeted back, the Warmth Thrumming clearly in her Heart. "I have a question for you, if you don't mind sparing a minute to answer it for me?" She asked; the housewife immediately sat the pitcher down, dusting her hands automatically over her apron as she padded over, blue eyes curious and slightly wary. Angel didn't mind the wariness, as she knew it wasn't her, specifically, that Monica was wary of, but her gun. Monica Richardson was, as Angel had learned, a Traditional Housewife with Traditional Views. She fully believed Women were at their happiest once they married and settled down, and that it was the men's job to provide money and protection. Police work, hunting, and outdoors activities were for men, while housework, childcare, and medicine were for women. She was, thankfully, also understanding that women needed to at least know how to fend for themselves while hunting for their husbands, which was one of the reasons she was mildly tolerant of her daughter's tomboy "phase".

Angel, as a Deputy, someone who was willing to fight in more than just Defense of The Children, and a young, pretty, and unmarried woman who refused to dress "properly" as a woman, was the Antithesis to most of her personal views, with only Mary May exceeding her by any major amount (Mary May and Monica  _loathed_  one another, but only in that passive aggressive, catty way Angel had rarely ever gotten to see during high school, and even then only ever between older women). Angel, however, understood her reasoning's to a degree, and made a point of not trying to 'talk some sense' into her about it.

It wasn't her place to try and convince someone that something that made them happy, that was harmless and legal, wasn't right.

"What's your question, Deputy?" Monica asked her politely, and Angel smiled at her.

"Well, Mary May asked me to go and liberate the local radio tower, you see," she explained beneath the urging Thrum of the Warmth. "But I don't know the area well at all, and I need someone who'd be able to guide me, but who wouldn't just start killing people who happen to be wearing white or the wrong sort of cross. That immediately excludes almost all of the men who carry guns around here," she added with a shake of her head. "And I don't necessarily need anyone who'd fight, just someone who could climb a tree and use binoculars to point out where I need to go. They don't even need to be anywhere within shooting range, just know the area. Do you know anyone who'd be willing to help me?" She asked hopefully, making her eyes a little bigger, knowing that her age and the Warmth would be enough to sway the housewife into answering honestly. She wasn't one for misleading others, as Lying was something she'd never really held much patience with, but, well, if the Warmth was urging her, than this was Important, and she'd done worse than a little emotional manipulation under the urging of her Lord before.

And, as always, He Led her True, as Monica, who had seemed so hesitant and wary at the beginning of Angel's questioning, seemed to come to a conclusion, blue eyes warm and a little superior, no doubt liking the idea that someone was asking for  _her_  help on something important.

"Well," she told Angel easily, "my daughter has a little tree house up near that tower, you know. Derek built it originally because we were told we'd be having a boy, but when Connie was born we still let her use it. It's farther away from the radio tower than some of the hunter's tree-seats, but there's a telescope in it. To be honest, Connie has been getting a little antsy, trapped in town and all, despite my best efforts in having her help me mend clothes for people. I'm sure this little... Adventure, will help her settle down a bit more." Monica paused for a second, anxiety flashing through her eyes even as she continued to smile, leaning toward Angel a bit. "I don't approve of you heading out without any men to protect you, but I know you have some training, and you have those sleeping gas canisters, so I know you're more than capable of keeping yourself safe. But, Deputy, if you take my daughter out there and she gets hurt, there  _will be_  hell to pay, understand?" She said, and, despite the threat, Angel was perturbed to realize that there wasn't any  _steel_  behind it. It was just a phrase, a statement, something that was  _expected_  of her to say, and Angel felt her own heart clench at the sudden realization that, despite the love this woman had for her daughter, she was also so set in her ways that she  _wouldn't_  change.

Monica believed it was men who should fight, men who should kill and do violence in every way unless they weren't there, and even then, retreat or surrender was the best thing women should do. And she held that belief to such a degree that, even when threatening to avenge her own  _child_ , she wouldn't do anything about it  _herself_. And, part of Angel, the part that had taken countless beatings under Father's belt, who had held each of her Sisters and Sworn to Protect and Love them, the part that would forever be the little girl in that dimly lit Cellar,  _reared back_  in disgust and confusion.

"I understand," she managed, still smiling, but she felt  _numb_  with it. Here, standing before her, was a woman who thought of herself as the  _Perfect Wife, Perfect Mother, Perfect Example_ , and yet she was so inherently flawed that she failed to be just those things where it counted most. Angel swallowed back anything she could say about it, any comments or questions, and just smiled weakly. "I'll protect her as I do my own little sisters, Monica," she told the woman,  _Vowed_  to the woman. "Do you know where she is now?" Monica blinked, and smiled at her patronizingly, although Angel wasn't sure if the expression was purposeful or if Monica just didn't realize what her own expression was saying, although Angel leaned more towards believing it was the latter option.

"Why, she's at home, mending clothes for Katrina Phillips and her children," she told Angel proudly. "You remember how to get to our home, correct?" She asked in that same, patronizing tone, before pointing down the street. "It's the blue house on the corner of the next block. You know, with the white fence and the hummingbird feeders? I'd walk you there myself, but I have to make sure Mr. Garcia and Derek keep hydrated in this little heatwave we're dealing with." She chuckled and leaned forward conspiratorially. "I don't know what these silly men would do without a woman around, probably starve or something else, and my Derek is always working so hard," she sighed, shaking her head. "And, well, Mr. Garcia is a guest, even if he doesn't seem to be from around here..." she murmured, eyes flicking towards the Latino male who was asking her husband a question in heavily accented English. "Still, he's no peggy, which puts him in the Lord's Good Books for now..." Angel once more swallowed her Pride and simply thanked the housewife before leaving, trying not to make her steps too hurried.

"Lord," she murmured as she carefully made her way toward the Richardson home, "I ask for Patience and Understanding, that I may work alongside those who discriminate against their fellow Human Beings, and not unleash my Wrath upon them underservingly. So that I may not Fall into Pride, and Believe myself Better or More Deserving of Your Love. That I may hold my Tongue when they make Choices that go Against Your Plan and Will, as is the Right of all Humans, as is the  _Gift_  You Blessed us, You Children, with upon Our Creation. May Your Will Be Done, Amen..." The Warmth Sang within her Heart, and the unease and disturbed feeling that had crept into her was flushed out by the Warmth, leaving her feeling Cleaned and Loved and better able to Focus.

Reaching the Richardson Home with a relieved smile, Angel paused in finding that the screen door was closed, but the main door was open. She could hear faint music, familiar music, playing from deeper within, and, when her tentative knock went unanswered, cautiously opened the door and stepped inside.

"Connie?" She called into the house; when no one answered, she took a deep breath and, following the Urging of the Warmth, slid through the house without hesitation towards a back room, past a rumbling dryer. The door to the room was open partially, and, from within, she could hear the music slightly easier, but it was still muffled. Cautiously, she poked the door open and peered inside.

There, sitting in a rocking chair, was Connie, a child's pink dress laid on her lap, headphones on her head.

And the Book of Joseph opened on her lap as she read with wide, curious blue eyes.

 _Ah,_  Angel thought as those blue eyes shot up to stare at her, suddenly frightened as the girl jumped to her feet, headphones yanking from the small radio beside her and filling the room with the song 'Help Me, Faith'.  _I see, my Lord._

 


	18. 17

**Angel's Wings**

**.17.**

"I can explain!" Connie blurted, eyes wide as she waved her hands, Book and dress having fallen to the ground at her feet. Angel lifted her own hands, palms out, and patted the air in a 'calm down' gesture, smiling a little.

"There's no need to explain," she soothed gently. "You're not in trouble." Connie hesitated, eyes darting to the Book of Joseph, it's white cover standing out brightly against the pink dress. "Connie, look at me," Angel said; those blue eyes shot back to her, still anxious and frightened, and Angel offered her the gentlest smile she could, stepping forward and carefully setting her hands on the tense shoulders of the girl. She had to bend down a little so that they were eye-to-eye, but Angel didn't hesitate to touch their foreheads together in a little, affectionate bump.

"You are  _not_  in trouble," she continued firmly, kindly. "Being curious, wanting to understand others, is  _not_  a  _bad thing_. Wanting to know something and taking the steps to learn it is  _not a bad thing_. You are not being bad, or doing something bad, no matter what anyone else says, just because you're reading that book. Okay?" Connie hesitated, before slowly, hesitantly nodding, bumping their foreheads together again. It made her giggle a little, still nervous sounding, but Angel just smiled back.

"Now, the reason I'm here," she said, straightening up and pulling her hands from the girls shoulders. "I've got a mission to go liberate the radio tower, but I need a guide. Your mother said that you have a tree house somewhere near the tower?" Connie blinked, obviously a little thrown from the topic change, before her eyes lit up.

"Are you asking me to go on a mission with you?!" She asked excitedly; Angel smiled a bit and nodded.

"If you're up to playing guide and staying out of firing range."

"Yes!" The girl blurted, Book forgotten as she bounced in place, eyes glittering brightly. "Yes, I am  _totally_  up for that! And more! I can shoot, I  _can_ , so I can totally help you out!" Angel once more patted at the air, laughing a little as the girl wriggled and bounced in place like an eager puppy.

"Easy,  _easy_ , Connie!" She laughed, smiling warmly at the bright grin she got in return. "Bring the gun just in case, but your part is to just guide me safely while  _staying_  safe, understand? I'd get lost otherwise and the last thing we all want is for me to head one way and somehow end up on the other side of the county." The teenager laughed, nodding excitedly, and Angel bent down to scoop up both the dress and the Book.

"First things first, however," she added, watching the excitement melt once more into anxiousness. "You're going to finish up with mending the clothes here, and I'm going to take this to my little nest to put it with the others. I understand you wanting to know more about the Project at Eden's Gate," she added kindly, "but it might not be the best time to go looking for answers, especially here..." Connie winced a little and nodded sheepishly, accepting the pink dress as Angel handed it to her.

"I'm almost done with the clothes," the girl told her honestly, smiling a little as she fingered a half-finished spot on the hemline. "I was just taking a break is all..." Angel smiled and reached forward to stroke a hand over the girl's blond hair, currently tied back in a messy bun.

"Curiosity isn't bad, Connie," she reminded simply. "Next time you want to read, we'll go out of town on a hunting or fishing trip or something, and I'll bring one of the books I have. Lord knows I have my own library's worth of them now," she added dryly, amused as she remembered the large number of books and crosses sitting in a crate in her claimed house.

"Okay," Connie agreed, a tension Angel hadn't even noticed slipping from her thin shoulders as she finally relaxed. She'd probably believed that Angel, despite her reassurances, would have denied her access to the Book, most likely with some sort of 'for your own good' or 'you're not old enough' excuse. Angel had seen plenty of people, especially adults, do such things, after all, and it had always left her feeling weirdly bemused.

She'd never understood denying information to children. Sure, some things should definitely be explained in the least traumatizing way for younger children than for teenagers (sex and violence, for example) but outright denying them or otherwise refusing to answer,  _just because_  of their age or you not wanting them to know? It had always seemed very stupid to her in high school.

"Come and find me when you're done," she told the teenager, blinking away from her thoughts with a small smile. "I'll just head back towards my home."

"Okay, Deputy," Connie agreed, pulling her headphones back up and sitting back in her chair, plugging the cord back in and plunging the room back into muffled silence as 'Oh, John' played on. "I'll see you in about an hour!" Angel nodded and let herself out, slipping the Book of Joseph into her backpack before leaving the house.

With plans made and the Book hidden safely out of sight, she walked away from the Richardson House and towards her own.

**^.^.^.^.^.^**

Angel hummed softly as she finished clipping zip-ties around the wrist of the last Faithful guard. Boomer was panting happily beside her as he stood guard and Connie was excitedly asking her questions about the sleeping gas canisters and how long they'd be unconscious and other things. Angel answered each question patiently and as best as she could, and soon enough the teenager was content to stand guard with Boomer as Angel carefully began to climb to the top of the tower.

" _The quickest way to reclaim the Radio Signal is to flip the breakers up at the top, Kid,"_  Dutch grunted at her over the radio on her hip.  _"It'll still be connected to the peggy stations, but it won't be under their control anymore. We'll be able t' reach from Holland Valley up through the Henbane and into the Whitetails. It's a damn good job, Kid."_

"Thank you, Dutch," Angel responded a minute later, as she paused on one of the small 'decks' of the tower, using a hand to shield her eyes as she peered out over the treetops. "Can it reach outside of the county?" she asked, a little hopefully, as she watched a distant herd of deer grazing.

" _I don't think so, Kid,"_ the old man responded after a moment.  _"Definitely not far enough t' reach the National Guard or anythin', at least."_  Angel hummed lowly, disappointed.

"I was just hoping for a way to reach my sisters, is all," she informed him honestly. "It's almost been two weeks now. If they haven't heard from me in another week, we've got a contingency plan in place that means they'll come looking for me themselves and, well, that's probably not the best idea, all things considered..." Dutch cursed over the radio, huffing in agreement.

" _Damn bad time for it, that's for sure,"_  he stated firmly.  _"You gotta cellphone, Kid? Should have enough of a signal up at the top for a call or two, at least."_ Angel thought about it for a second before nodding.

"It doesn't have much of a battery, but yes, I have one." Dutch grunted over the line.

" _It'll kill your battery faster'n much anythin' else, but you should have about five minutes worth of a call if it's got about half-full."_  Hope renewed, Angel quickly returned to her climb, ignoring the sting in her hands, healing blisters and the beginning of new callouses from grave digging biting into the ladder despite her gloves. Her arms ached by the time she made it to the very top, the only thing that lead safely back to the ground besides the ladder being a sturdy looking zip-line that had a sign stating it was 'Made by Sharky' on it.

Angel eyed it bemusedly, wondering if that made it more likely to  _somehow_  catch fire or more likely to break. (She had grown more than aware of Sharky's weird form of pyromania in the last two days, after all. One temporarily out-of-control forest fire was enough for her, thank you).

"So I just flip all of the breakers in this box, Dutch?" She asked over the radio, eyeing the large flips and small battery-like cells within the metal box curiously.

" _Yeah, kid,"_  he replied instantly  _"Switch 'em all off, then on again, and you'll be good t' go."_

"Roger that," she replied, clipping the radio back onto her hip as she followed his instructions. She waited a full five Mississippi's after turning the breakers all off, just to make sure, before flipping them back on again. The box sparked, and a shiver of static flew up both of her arms as she carefully closed the box once again.

" _That's it, Kid, you did it!"_  Dutch exclaimed over the radio, making her smile a little as she heard distant cheering from the direction of Fall's End, the setting sun painting the forest in reds and gold around them. Connie hooted and Boomer barked excitedly in response way down below her, and Angel chuckled as she carefully sat down on the small platform, shifting her bag onto the spot next to her. It was full of food and clothes and a specifically folded blanket, as the two of them (three, counting Boomer) would be camping out in the teenager's Tree House, but there at the bottom was a small cellphone she'd found and claimed from one of the abandoned houses in town. It had been one of a few different ones she'd found, but the only one that hadn't been password locked, so she'd kept just just in case.

And now, she'd be able to use it!

And, indeed, she had a single bar of signal on the tiny screen, and a little more than half of her battery to spare. Quickly, eagerly she dialed Mercy's number, turning the volume up as high as she could and pressing the plastic to her ear tightly.

Two rings, then—!

" _Mercy Brook,"_  her sister's voice stated sharply; Angel closed her eyes.

"Hello, Little Sister," she breathed, tipping her head back with relief.

" _Angel,"_  Mercy breathed back with equal relief.  _"You get lost on the road to life or something?"_  Angel chuckled a bit, lifting her free hand to press over her eyes, feeling tears begin to burn in them.

"I found a Prophet," she said weakly, voice going slightly hoarse with emotion. "And started a Holy War. Also, the world is going to end." There was several second of silence, and then:

" _Well, fuck."_  Angel laughed, bright and relieved and filled with so much Light and Love and Joy at reconnecting with her Family, even if only briefly.  _"You want us to come to you?"_  Angel, still chucking, shook her head immediately.

"No, it's a bad time," she replied, pausing to take a deep breath and just  _Listen_  for a moment. "...Four months from now, if you can," she replied, voice soft and slightly Dazed as the Warmth Crooned through her. "If you have to come early, head for the Project Center and ask for The Prophet. Tell them you're the Lost Lamb's Flock and it'll work out. The Prophet will Know." The phone beeped a little, battery drained down to a quarter life already, straining to keep a hold on the signal it had.

" _I can't fucking believe you found a fucking **Prophet** ,"_ she complained.  _"Only **you**  would go for an arrest and find God's personal Speaker System in the flesh." _Angel laughed again, before sighing as the phone beeped once more, insistantly.

"I have to go," she told her Sister mournfully. "I'll try to call again in a week or so."

" _Yeah, yeah, if you don't get lost again, I know,"_ Mercy chuckled back, something relieved and warm in her voice.  _"Love you, Sis."_

"Love you too, Little Sister," she murmured; moments later, the phone buzzed and died in her hands. Angel slowly lowered it to her lap, and just let her head fall back, eyes closed as she slowly  _breathed_.

"...Thank you, Lord," she whispered, chest tight. "Please,  _please_ , keep them safe until we meet again.  _Please_." And, in her Heart, the Warmth  _Sang_ , filing her with the Peace and Light of the Lord, the Holy Spirit, and her next breath was easy, the tightness of her throat and chest soothed away by His Will, and Angel smiled with her eyes still closed.  _Thank You_ , she thought, before opening her eyes once more and getting up.

It was time to see if that zip-line was safe or not, she decided mischievously as she tucked the phone back into her bag and did just that.

And, later that night, if she slid the Book of Joseph she'd hidden in the folded blanket over to a bored Connie, and winked when the girl's face lit up excitedly, well.

She  _had_  promised the teenager, after all.


End file.
